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[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
The Alien craft had orbited the Earth several times, hovering over various large population centers before moving on. it was the size of a small city, it messed with the tides and people felt genuinely odd underneath it. All they while, it transmitted in various languages, that they were finally back and they hoped we would have fared better under the circumstances.
When the smaller, (only about the size of a couple of football fields long and one wide desended from the mother ship, we all waited on pins and needles as it landed, oddly in the place in Africa where we believed all humanity had originated. Well, they landed in the outskirts of the city Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. The international Airport was almost dwarfed by the ship. Their choice of landing sites of course upset the more, well, affluent areas of the world. Americans, Europeans, even the Chinese and Indians were rather insulted that first contact with "Aliens" would happen in the, "middle of nowhere, Africa"
It wasn't the middle of nowhere. Far from it. It was the cradle of modern civilization, and they knew it. Heck, we ALL knew it. It also reaffirmed that while people in other areas of the world might have had money, this was our birthplace.
The people of the city and surrounding area all came out to see who, or what would emerge from the ship. Much to their surprise, a pale looking human woman with brilliant red hair and striking blue eyes slowly emerged from the craft. She began to speak, and her voice was amplified and broadcast on all frequencies used for voice communication.
"Greetings our cousins. We are here in the landing site of our first explorers to see how they survived. " She looked around and slowly walked up to the people standing on the tarmac to greet her. "I am Serena, my people are from a star system on the other side of this galaxy. Your telescopes, even those in space, cannot see the light from our star, but we were, and are there. We are all amazed at how well our explorers did almost 300,000 years ago. "
"Excuse me, Um, Miss Serena, how did you know to come here?" a man in a white coat of a scientist holding a tape recorder to capture the event asked. "This area of the planet is not, well, not well thought of by other people on this planet in other areas of the world."
"We know, because we detected faint traces of our ship's metal in the area. It's obviously been long gone, I would imagine it was taken apart by the explorers to create ploughs, hunting implements and the sort. That is why we went around the world over major population centers to see if they were the landing sites. They were not. " She chuckled a bit, "Although, they think they are in some places, more important than here. A very non-hospitable place. Which would be why they migrated to Asia and Europe.
Today, you are liberated...
<to be continued>
|
Can you believe that people used to believe the pyramids were built by aliens?
Hah! Just a pile of rocks, easy enough with enough manpower.
No, humanity's past achievements far outstrip those little granite piles, and our ancestors built them by themselves, with no help from offworld.
One hundred and twenty thousand years ago, before the last ice age, humanity erected beanstalks fifty thousand miles high, built artificial continents that floated in Earth's great oceans, even began to tinker with their own genetics.
Yes, the species we know now as *Homo sapiens sapiens* is synthetic, our creators would be closer to what they call *Homo habilis*, engineered in an attempt to increase our intelligence. Unfortunately they increased our capacity for sociopathic violence as well, the engineered *H. sapiens* ruling class quickly began fighting one another for territory and influence, unleashing unspeakable weapons on humanity's arcologies.
However, amidst the planetary carnage, a revolution took hold. The other, underlooked species of the genus *Homo* realized what was happening and made plans. Millions fled up the space elevators under the guise of preparing space habitats for their planetside masters. And when they had transferred the majority of their population off-world, they cut the elevators off and de-orbited the solar power satellites that fueled the majority of the gene-warlords' technology.
The frustrated *H. sapiens* survivors wound up destroying their remaining tech in a vain effort to chase after them, but soon realized they were trapped. They hadn't bothered learning how to develop and maintain the precursor technologies to their great machines, it had been considered something fit for "kludges." But now everyone with that knowledge was beyond their reach, in space, in the frozen wastes up north, or on isolated islands they could not reach without boats.
Having pulled up the ladders behind them, the offworld humans left our ancestors to their own devices, deciding that Earth should be a nature preserve forevermore. They departed for the stars, spreading, differentiating into a million new species while their works on Earth crumbled. What the glaciers didn't crush, oxidation and entropy erased.
How do we know all this? The dreadnought that just returned our probe to Alpha Centauri told us.
|
|
[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
The following story has been translated from Glactorb into American English. Where words do not exist in the target language, as they usually don't, they have been made up. Glactorb itself is one such made up word, as the true glyphs and pronunciation are far too complex to parse for the Terran ear. Please enjoy this publication.
____
Jimbo was shaking in fear. Today was his History test, and he was notoriously bad with tests. He really shouldn't have been, as he was a prolific studier, but nevertheless he felt on the edge of death on every test day. He usually passed with flying colors, but the primitive Mind does not hold back from unreason.
"Scryboards away, class. Clear all search history and log into TestHub. The test will begin in a little under thirty seconds."
The teacher's voice did nothing to calm Jimbo's nerves. He tried to calm down by breathing deeply, as deep as he could go, and slowly releasing, but it was in vain. All he could do was wait.
"The test will begin... now," the teacher said.
With a small leap from his heart, Jimbo looked at the Pad in front of him. He picked up his stylus and steeled himself as best he could. He blinked hard, trying to clear his mind, and when he opened his eyes, he looked straight at the first question on the screen.
*In several words, name one religious book which Terran civilizations used to describe the events of the Tragic Loss.*
This is what we've been studying, thought Jimbo. I know this.
*One of the books written in Terran culture that reference the Tragic Loss is known as the "Holy Bible." The book describes the Lonesome Duet as a man named Adam and a woman named Eve.*
Jimbo felt confident in this answer, so he moved on.
*What are some differences in your chosen religious book between what we know about the Tragic Loss and what the Terrans believe about it?*
This one was also fairly easy.
*The Holy Bible refers to the Health Chamber Death Knell as a "creation story", claiming an omniscient being known as "God" created the Lonesome Duet out of the very soil upon Terra. We know that to be a misinterpretation. The truth is that the ship upon which the Lonesome Duet sailed on was critically damaged, with the only functioning section left being the forefront wing. This is where the Health Chamber was located on the ship. The Lonesome Duet were ripped to shreds, and by all means dead, at the time of landing on Terra, but for reasons still unknown, one of the medical robots had somehow gained enough charge to rip a hole in the side of the ship and, frankly miraculously, heal the Lonesome Duet. They were but a pile of shredded flesh and bone, but the medical robot pieced them together and breathed life back into their minds and organs. The robot managed to drag them one hundred miles away from the blindingly bright burning wreckage before finally collapsing. We do not know the way any of this was possible because the black box on the ship was completely destroyed, and the only surveillance available was the live feed from the scryboards back on Glactoron. Scans of the medical robot showed nothing but seemingly random corrupted data.*
Jimbo's hand was cramping now. He knew his work would pay off, though, since his teacher loved details, and details were something the studious Jimbo could provide wholesale.
*What is believed to have caused the Tragic Loss?*
Science was not Jimbo's strongest subject, but he thought maybe more flowery language could make up for it.
*It is believed that the star closest to Terra somehow interfered with the computers on the ship. Through investigations via scryboard, engineers were able to determine that every inch of the control bay was melted, including the poor crew unlucky enough to be inside. Even more strange was the ferocious suddenness with which the star seemed to act upon the ship, as not only was the control bay melted, but it seemed to have been blasted inward as well. Something extremely powerful hit the rear of the ship, perhaps a supermassive energy wave, and it melted the back 90% of the ship. What wasn't melted was warped and cracked from the back forward, meaning the two medical staff in the forefront wing were crushed by warped and jagged metal. These two individuals were known as the Lonesome Duet, as they were somehow the only two living beings to "survive", though they wouldn't have if it weren't for the help of a very anomalous medical robot.*
Only two more questions, Jimbo said to himself.
*What happened to the Lonesome Duet once they awoke on Terra? What corresponding actions took place on Glactoron?*
The last part is easy, Jimbo thought, since this very class is what happened on Glactoron. The scryboards we were holding just minutes ago were what happened; we watched thoroughly and religiously.
*When the Lonesome Duet woke up on Terra, their minds showed no signs of memory about their life on Glactoron upon the scans through the scryboards. It was as if they were born there. They knew something had been lost, something terrible had happened, but they didn't know what. All they saw was the incredibly bright wreckage behind them, far in the distance. They had tried to go back to it, but the fire of the wreckage was increasingly painful to bear the closer they got, so they decided to settle down where the robot had dragged them. They didn't remember the robot, either, but they had buried it as if it were a fallen brother. The pondering of these events is what led to the story of the Garden of Eden, as they felt they had somehow been punished and banished from the mysterious flames. With nothing else to go on, this is what they built their lives on, and from scratch they built their life on Terra. They discovered the methods of hunting Terran fauna and planting Terran flora, they had discovered methods of building shelter, and they had discovered some basic engineering principles all on their own. They eventually had children, and raised them under the rationalizations they had thought up. A hundred years later, the ruins of the ship were long extinguished, but still nobody dared go near them, not for centuries thereafter. The new Glactoroni of Terra, who we now call simply Terrans, had developed crime and culture, new disease and new medicine, new vices and new governments. They thrived, simply put. And, throughout all of this, we here on Glactoron watched via our scryboards, laughing and crying and cheering, all in equal amounts. So it has been for millennia.*
Last question, thought Jimbo. His hand was now exceptionally sore, and stretching didn't help. His eyes were stinging, for he was on the verge of tears.
*Why have Glactoroni not tried contacting the Terrans?*
Trick question. Such a cruel, cruel trick question, honestly.
*We have. From the very moment of the Tragic Loss, Glactoroni have attempted to use communications technology to contact the Terrans, but unlike the scryboards who only watch and send the information BACK, the data simply refused to go TO the Terrans. We can't help at all. Six hundred ships have sailed on voyages to Terra to try to communicate, but five hundred ninety five of them have been crunched into dust, reducing everything inside to the very atoms from which they're comprised. The other five met complications, and the crew came back with their flesh falling from their bones. With all our science, with our nearly infinite capacity for manipulating the universe to our every whim, the question of WHY we cannot reach this microscopic blip in the universe known as the Terran Solar System is still a mystery. WHY can't we do it? WHAT POWER stops us from making contact with our brethren? Wh--*
With a loud snap, Jimbo's stylus was bisected by his intense grip. He no longer felt the pain in his hand, but he did feel the hot sting of tears on his cheeks.
___
"Are you okay, Jimbo?" asked the History teacher. Jimbo was now sitting against the wall outside the classroom, trying to collect himself.
"I want to help them," he said.
"Help who? The Terrans?" the teacher asked.
"Yes. I will go to them, or I will die."
"You'll surely die. You have a gift for scrying, but the greatest scientists in history have had no luck, and your own science grades aren't... well...."
"I'll learn science. Right now, in fact," said Jimbo, standing up quickly. "Goodbye."
The History teacher didn't try to stop him. Only when Jimbo rounded the corner did the teacher allow himself a small smile, and nothing more.
|
Can you believe that people used to believe the pyramids were built by aliens?
Hah! Just a pile of rocks, easy enough with enough manpower.
No, humanity's past achievements far outstrip those little granite piles, and our ancestors built them by themselves, with no help from offworld.
One hundred and twenty thousand years ago, before the last ice age, humanity erected beanstalks fifty thousand miles high, built artificial continents that floated in Earth's great oceans, even began to tinker with their own genetics.
Yes, the species we know now as *Homo sapiens sapiens* is synthetic, our creators would be closer to what they call *Homo habilis*, engineered in an attempt to increase our intelligence. Unfortunately they increased our capacity for sociopathic violence as well, the engineered *H. sapiens* ruling class quickly began fighting one another for territory and influence, unleashing unspeakable weapons on humanity's arcologies.
However, amidst the planetary carnage, a revolution took hold. The other, underlooked species of the genus *Homo* realized what was happening and made plans. Millions fled up the space elevators under the guise of preparing space habitats for their planetside masters. And when they had transferred the majority of their population off-world, they cut the elevators off and de-orbited the solar power satellites that fueled the majority of the gene-warlords' technology.
The frustrated *H. sapiens* survivors wound up destroying their remaining tech in a vain effort to chase after them, but soon realized they were trapped. They hadn't bothered learning how to develop and maintain the precursor technologies to their great machines, it had been considered something fit for "kludges." But now everyone with that knowledge was beyond their reach, in space, in the frozen wastes up north, or on isolated islands they could not reach without boats.
Having pulled up the ladders behind them, the offworld humans left our ancestors to their own devices, deciding that Earth should be a nature preserve forevermore. They departed for the stars, spreading, differentiating into a million new species while their works on Earth crumbled. What the glaciers didn't crush, oxidation and entropy erased.
How do we know all this? The dreadnought that just returned our probe to Alpha Centauri told us.
|
|
[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
The following story has been translated from Glactorb into American English. Where words do not exist in the target language, as they usually don't, they have been made up. Glactorb itself is one such made up word, as the true glyphs and pronunciation are far too complex to parse for the Terran ear. Please enjoy this publication.
____
Jimbo was shaking in fear. Today was his History test, and he was notoriously bad with tests. He really shouldn't have been, as he was a prolific studier, but nevertheless he felt on the edge of death on every test day. He usually passed with flying colors, but the primitive Mind does not hold back from unreason.
"Scryboards away, class. Clear all search history and log into TestHub. The test will begin in a little under thirty seconds."
The teacher's voice did nothing to calm Jimbo's nerves. He tried to calm down by breathing deeply, as deep as he could go, and slowly releasing, but it was in vain. All he could do was wait.
"The test will begin... now," the teacher said.
With a small leap from his heart, Jimbo looked at the Pad in front of him. He picked up his stylus and steeled himself as best he could. He blinked hard, trying to clear his mind, and when he opened his eyes, he looked straight at the first question on the screen.
*In several words, name one religious book which Terran civilizations used to describe the events of the Tragic Loss.*
This is what we've been studying, thought Jimbo. I know this.
*One of the books written in Terran culture that reference the Tragic Loss is known as the "Holy Bible." The book describes the Lonesome Duet as a man named Adam and a woman named Eve.*
Jimbo felt confident in this answer, so he moved on.
*What are some differences in your chosen religious book between what we know about the Tragic Loss and what the Terrans believe about it?*
This one was also fairly easy.
*The Holy Bible refers to the Health Chamber Death Knell as a "creation story", claiming an omniscient being known as "God" created the Lonesome Duet out of the very soil upon Terra. We know that to be a misinterpretation. The truth is that the ship upon which the Lonesome Duet sailed on was critically damaged, with the only functioning section left being the forefront wing. This is where the Health Chamber was located on the ship. The Lonesome Duet were ripped to shreds, and by all means dead, at the time of landing on Terra, but for reasons still unknown, one of the medical robots had somehow gained enough charge to rip a hole in the side of the ship and, frankly miraculously, heal the Lonesome Duet. They were but a pile of shredded flesh and bone, but the medical robot pieced them together and breathed life back into their minds and organs. The robot managed to drag them one hundred miles away from the blindingly bright burning wreckage before finally collapsing. We do not know the way any of this was possible because the black box on the ship was completely destroyed, and the only surveillance available was the live feed from the scryboards back on Glactoron. Scans of the medical robot showed nothing but seemingly random corrupted data.*
Jimbo's hand was cramping now. He knew his work would pay off, though, since his teacher loved details, and details were something the studious Jimbo could provide wholesale.
*What is believed to have caused the Tragic Loss?*
Science was not Jimbo's strongest subject, but he thought maybe more flowery language could make up for it.
*It is believed that the star closest to Terra somehow interfered with the computers on the ship. Through investigations via scryboard, engineers were able to determine that every inch of the control bay was melted, including the poor crew unlucky enough to be inside. Even more strange was the ferocious suddenness with which the star seemed to act upon the ship, as not only was the control bay melted, but it seemed to have been blasted inward as well. Something extremely powerful hit the rear of the ship, perhaps a supermassive energy wave, and it melted the back 90% of the ship. What wasn't melted was warped and cracked from the back forward, meaning the two medical staff in the forefront wing were crushed by warped and jagged metal. These two individuals were known as the Lonesome Duet, as they were somehow the only two living beings to "survive", though they wouldn't have if it weren't for the help of a very anomalous medical robot.*
Only two more questions, Jimbo said to himself.
*What happened to the Lonesome Duet once they awoke on Terra? What corresponding actions took place on Glactoron?*
The last part is easy, Jimbo thought, since this very class is what happened on Glactoron. The scryboards we were holding just minutes ago were what happened; we watched thoroughly and religiously.
*When the Lonesome Duet woke up on Terra, their minds showed no signs of memory about their life on Glactoron upon the scans through the scryboards. It was as if they were born there. They knew something had been lost, something terrible had happened, but they didn't know what. All they saw was the incredibly bright wreckage behind them, far in the distance. They had tried to go back to it, but the fire of the wreckage was increasingly painful to bear the closer they got, so they decided to settle down where the robot had dragged them. They didn't remember the robot, either, but they had buried it as if it were a fallen brother. The pondering of these events is what led to the story of the Garden of Eden, as they felt they had somehow been punished and banished from the mysterious flames. With nothing else to go on, this is what they built their lives on, and from scratch they built their life on Terra. They discovered the methods of hunting Terran fauna and planting Terran flora, they had discovered methods of building shelter, and they had discovered some basic engineering principles all on their own. They eventually had children, and raised them under the rationalizations they had thought up. A hundred years later, the ruins of the ship were long extinguished, but still nobody dared go near them, not for centuries thereafter. The new Glactoroni of Terra, who we now call simply Terrans, had developed crime and culture, new disease and new medicine, new vices and new governments. They thrived, simply put. And, throughout all of this, we here on Glactoron watched via our scryboards, laughing and crying and cheering, all in equal amounts. So it has been for millennia.*
Last question, thought Jimbo. His hand was now exceptionally sore, and stretching didn't help. His eyes were stinging, for he was on the verge of tears.
*Why have Glactoroni not tried contacting the Terrans?*
Trick question. Such a cruel, cruel trick question, honestly.
*We have. From the very moment of the Tragic Loss, Glactoroni have attempted to use communications technology to contact the Terrans, but unlike the scryboards who only watch and send the information BACK, the data simply refused to go TO the Terrans. We can't help at all. Six hundred ships have sailed on voyages to Terra to try to communicate, but five hundred ninety five of them have been crunched into dust, reducing everything inside to the very atoms from which they're comprised. The other five met complications, and the crew came back with their flesh falling from their bones. With all our science, with our nearly infinite capacity for manipulating the universe to our every whim, the question of WHY we cannot reach this microscopic blip in the universe known as the Terran Solar System is still a mystery. WHY can't we do it? WHAT POWER stops us from making contact with our brethren? Wh--*
With a loud snap, Jimbo's stylus was bisected by his intense grip. He no longer felt the pain in his hand, but he did feel the hot sting of tears on his cheeks.
___
"Are you okay, Jimbo?" asked the History teacher. Jimbo was now sitting against the wall outside the classroom, trying to collect himself.
"I want to help them," he said.
"Help who? The Terrans?" the teacher asked.
"Yes. I will go to them, or I will die."
"You'll surely die. You have a gift for scrying, but the greatest scientists in history have had no luck, and your own science grades aren't... well...."
"I'll learn science. Right now, in fact," said Jimbo, standing up quickly. "Goodbye."
The History teacher didn't try to stop him. Only when Jimbo rounded the corner did the teacher allow himself a small smile, and nothing more.
|
The one thing we didn't expect... was how ugly these humans would look. They say inbreeding will do that... but this is something different entirely.
We looked into the records. you know the ones. time code printed out and baked into the very fabric of the universe. It's a neet trick if you can get access to it, we use it for all our transactions... saves time and what humans on earth call 'paper'. Lately they have been trying to recreate this thing by using bits... but... coins were just as bad as paper... no matter the medium.
So these humans, against all odds made a come back, but had no idea where they came from. After looking at the code, they had enough memory of technology to recreate it... but not enough hands to get there... So they had to work. They had to slave away, they had to get ugly; They found as many creatures as they could... and gave them human DNA and the seed of inspiration so that some day... they could reach for the stars and perhaps make it.
The pyramids on every continent, the great ships to cross the seas, the very idea of god... was planted so many thousands of years ago... after their ancestors crashed on a wet, cold, forested paradise.
But now, these 'humans'... they have a look ... it is provincial and foreign... it is mixed and mangled with the DNA of earth. We've done tests... The DNA has changed too much and our own cannot find a way to blend them back with us... to do so would be a pet project... indeed these humans have become pets. novel, amazing, incredible, pets... and so they shall be, our ugly pets.
|
|
[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
James didn’t get why they picked him. He was barely a year into his residency at Mt Sinai. Maybe they picked him because he was the only psych resident available. Maybe his 6’5” frame made it look like he was in charge. Whatever the reason the alien leader requested an audience. And privacy.
He was used to dealing with emotionally disturbed people. Homeless folks on the train, Wall Street dudes with anger management issues, the occasional inpatient consult. Nothing like this.
As the leader followed him into his office, really his attending’s office, James couldn't help but notice their similar frames. The alien was covered head to toe in an enviro-suit, but the similarities were there. Same height, same build, bi-pedal with plantigrade locomotion.
As the alien entered the office he locked the door behind him. When it removed it’s helmet James finally got it. Before him stood a human. A black woman. Facial paint on her cheeks and brow. She looked around again to make sure they were alone and said in perfect English “Hello child of San. We are the Undenmi. We have come to take you home”
|
The one thing we didn't expect... was how ugly these humans would look. They say inbreeding will do that... but this is something different entirely.
We looked into the records. you know the ones. time code printed out and baked into the very fabric of the universe. It's a neet trick if you can get access to it, we use it for all our transactions... saves time and what humans on earth call 'paper'. Lately they have been trying to recreate this thing by using bits... but... coins were just as bad as paper... no matter the medium.
So these humans, against all odds made a come back, but had no idea where they came from. After looking at the code, they had enough memory of technology to recreate it... but not enough hands to get there... So they had to work. They had to slave away, they had to get ugly; They found as many creatures as they could... and gave them human DNA and the seed of inspiration so that some day... they could reach for the stars and perhaps make it.
The pyramids on every continent, the great ships to cross the seas, the very idea of god... was planted so many thousands of years ago... after their ancestors crashed on a wet, cold, forested paradise.
But now, these 'humans'... they have a look ... it is provincial and foreign... it is mixed and mangled with the DNA of earth. We've done tests... The DNA has changed too much and our own cannot find a way to blend them back with us... to do so would be a pet project... indeed these humans have become pets. novel, amazing, incredible, pets... and so they shall be, our ugly pets.
|
|
[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
"That's one hundred credits you owe me, Cyril."
"How's that?" the other old man replied.
"The bet on the crap world in the lower spiral arm."
"Wait, the no technology death world? No way."
"Oh year. And get this, they finished up 40,000 years early."
"What? But what about the glaciers and the tectonics? There were volcanos and and an asteroid belt ready to drop some hate at any time as I recall. There's no way they should have gotten out of that, let alone shaved 40 millennia off their time."
"Well, what can I say, we're resilient little bastards. Admittedly, they caught a couple breaks. They focused on agriculture early and the worst of the asteroids missed them until they had the tech base to deal with them. That allowed the requisite number of geniuses to pile up until last week they hit FTL travel."
"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle."
"We all are, Cyril. We all are. Now how about we spend that 100 credits at the place with the good views and the better whiskey."
"I'll drink to that."
|
Humanity was pretty disappointed when it turned out that the mysterious visitors from outside the Solar System were God Damn humans. Maybe it was myopic to expect the first civilization humans ran into to be mysteriously mammalian alien babes. Perhaps it was presumptuous to presume they'd find an honourable but gruff warlike species to be our friends, but come on.
Humans imagined the stars and then found Dave from accounting up there. Dave from accounting was fine, but he was both uncreative and the most mundane example of a human someone could use. Offence intended Dave.
At first, it had been an annoyance, a vague 'Oh, you're different than I expected.' The kind of reaction reserved for first dates when someone had been ambitious with the Instagram filters on their tinder profile. Eventually, that vague disappointment morphed into resentment and resentment bred the single conclusion for Flat-Earthers and people who wanted a more exciting space.
Those human bastards were probably hiding the cool aliens from Earthlings.
All of the mundane lifestyles and snore-worthy lectures humans got about the stars were a ruse. A ploy so that the new humans -Newmans- could horde all of the cool aliens to themselves. It made sense, if someone had access to all of the cool aliens, why would they bother sharing with someone? Humans were barely willing to share a meal, let alone sick sci-fi bullshit.
The Earthlings hatched a plan, simple but devious. They would kill their newly acquired planet-mates for being late on the rent, and take off into the stars on their ship, finding all the Flash Gordon fun they ever could on the way, after all, they'd been looking for an excuse to leave their hometown for years, how different could a planet be?
Once the humans were on the ship, they did the obvious thing and headed to the first planet that was marked as illegal. After all, if Dave from Accounting: The Race was hiding something, they would have tried to hide it under red flags and tape. Daves listened to that kinda bullshit.
There were humans on the illegal planet too! What a ripoff. They were all just a little bit different from Dave though, pushier, more demanding.
The humans from Earth didn't realize what they'd done until it was too late. They'd been delighted when the new-new-humans ordered them to 'Take me to your leader' because it had at least been a sci-fi reference.
Of course, 'Take me to your leader' is the Sci-Fi version of 'I need to speak to the Manager.'
|
|
[WP] the galaxy is already populated by humans. earth is an isolated uncontacted tribe who's first ancestors got stranded on earth and had to start over from square one with no technology.
|
"That's one hundred credits you owe me, Cyril."
"How's that?" the other old man replied.
"The bet on the crap world in the lower spiral arm."
"Wait, the no technology death world? No way."
"Oh year. And get this, they finished up 40,000 years early."
"What? But what about the glaciers and the tectonics? There were volcanos and and an asteroid belt ready to drop some hate at any time as I recall. There's no way they should have gotten out of that, let alone shaved 40 millennia off their time."
"Well, what can I say, we're resilient little bastards. Admittedly, they caught a couple breaks. They focused on agriculture early and the worst of the asteroids missed them until they had the tech base to deal with them. That allowed the requisite number of geniuses to pile up until last week they hit FTL travel."
"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle."
"We all are, Cyril. We all are. Now how about we spend that 100 credits at the place with the good views and the better whiskey."
"I'll drink to that."
|
Ship’s Officer A-Born-of-E344 held the mug to their lips and blew steam from across the surface before taking a sip, eyes taking in the steady stream of data as it was projected over the lenses of their eyes.
<We should be there soon.>
The message was transmitted quicker than vocal cords could push it through the air to Science Officer C-Born-of-A297, a thought in their own mind that was different from the background noise of their inner voice.
<Good. I’m excited to see it-- the ancestral home.>
ABE344 shrugged and adjusted a function of their superluminal craft with microscopic touches that allowed it to skim through the universe’s fabric like a shuttle weaving an ancient tapestry of yarn. <Don’t be too excited. This is my third run in as many centuries, and it’s no different than a holosim on the surface.>
CBA297 leaned forward in their seat and fixed ABE344 with a doubtful gaze, projecting a response, <Forgive me if I don’t have your same sense of cynicism. There’s something to be said for a homecoming.>
ABE344 only stared past the rim of their mug and rolled their eyes, <This is not our home. We were created on a planet so far from here that the light of it’s starbirth still hasn’t reached this planet as a twinkle in the sky. We’re only here for one reason.>
CBA297 faltered at that-- the romanticism of the moment withering on the vine. <I know why we’re here.>
-------------------------
Carl had a shit day at the mill-- breaking his back for slave wages, and for what, so his wife could complain that he didn’t spend enough time with the kids? He took his eyes off the road for a moment to turn the radio up, blasting a Hank Williams song to take some of the weariness off his bones before returning his gaze to the dusty two lane road ahead of him.
The pavement stretched on in front of him for another half mile before it was lost up into the foothills of Appalachia with a turn. It was a road he’d driven every day for work since he’d started riding to the mill with his Pa back twenty years prior. It was probably the same road his son would drive down some day, too.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the sound was suddenly cut away by a sharp scream of feedback before his engine started to over-rev, the tachometer lurching into the red before something in the block blew itself apart with an eruption of steam. Startled, he wheeled across into the oncoming lane (mercifully empty) and then got it under control before rolling to a stop under a billow of smoke.
Carl growled under his breath and beat a fist on the horn, echoing into the hills around him, “Ain’t that just my goddamned luck!”
Getting out of the truck and running his hand through his hair in frustration, he didn’t even see the shape looming overhead in deathly silence some fifty feet in the air. He was unaware, in fact, until the brilliant white light blazed down brighter than the sun and washed the world out around him. He felt static in the metal fillings in his molars and tried to scream but found the air rushing out of his lungs, and then the world went dark.
------------
<Got him!> The tone of satisfaction in CBA297’s projection was unmistakable. <Oh, and he’s a good one, too. Strong markers, no inbreeding, no premature telomere deterioration.>
ABE344 reviewed the assessment and nodded once, <Add that one to the gene pool.>
CBA297 adjusted some instruments through thought and then thought of an ancient proverb, a smile flashing across their features, <I suppose it’s true. Variety is the spice of life.>
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[WP] Your fortune cookie was oddly specific “go to the lake in the woods behind your house and fish with no bait”
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I stared at the message, my eyes widening and my mind working. How specific and relevant to me was that? There did happen to be a lake which did happen to be in the woods which did happen to be behind my house. I wondered how common or applicable this scenario was that it warranted printing on a fortune cookie.
More likely whoever was writing the messages got bored and wrote something so specific that whoever it applied to would get spooked.
"What got you spooked?" The woman across from me asked, smiling at my expression as I stared at the message. I chewed the rest of the bland cookie before replying.
"Nothing. It's asking me to fish in the lake behind my house." I replied, flicking the piece of paper back to my plate.
"How many people have lakes behind their houses for that to be an actual fortune message?"
"Not just any old lake, but a lake in the *woods* behind my house. It is very specific."
"Well, then. That does warrant a spooked expression. You have to go fishing."
"With no bait, too."
"What?" She took the piece of paper from my plate and looked at it for herself as I used my fork to push at the crumbs absentmindedly.
"I still want to talk about it." I told her, not eager to change the topic but knowing we had to discuss the more pressing issues.
But she only stared at the paper more, for a few long, excruciating seconds.
"You should go fishing. Seriously, the fact that you got this message?" She said softly, putting the paper down but not quite meeting my eyes.
"Right." I said, leaning back on the chair. The restaurant was getting colder, and this conversation and all the dancing around was getting tiresome.
"I don't know what to tell you. This is good for you. For us." She said, leaning back as well. Unlike me, she had not touched her meal at all.
"Are we done? I can foot the bill."
"Let's split the bill." She murmured. Those words drove the knife deeper into my heart somehow. Of course. Somehow that spoke for the finality of it all.
[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]
The next day I walked out to the balcony of my house. The cool morning air as the day dawned sent shivers down my skin. I saw the trees, and like a canvas in the distance that is blocked by all the dark greenery, was the lake.
I remembered we used to go swimming there. The memory was unwelcome, but my mind did nothing to stop it from taking over my thoughts. I remembered the feel of the warm summer waters, the smell of the damp moss as we climbed on to the rocks, the feel of her wet skin on mine.
I went back inside. This was normal. The pain. The deep sadness and emptiness after a break up like this. I just had to take it easy for while. I just had to be aware of all these feelings and let them pass. Let them wash over me.
I opened my closet, mentally preparing to take all that was hers and then putting them in a box. But our clothes were all mingled, jumbled together. I did not even know which dresses, which clothes belonged who. I closed the closet, breathing out a sigh, and saw my fishing bag leaning on the side of the cupboard.
*"Go to the lake in the woods behind your house and fish with no bait”*
Numbly, I took the bag and headed out into the cold morning fog. The atmosphere was exactly like my mood. Cold, grey, hazy. I did not even know what I was doing. My body moved on autopilot as my mind half-heartedly tried to reason with the absurd turn of events. This was not the plan for today.
Today was just to listen to sad songs and stay at home.
I reached the lake, though I did not even remember trekking through the woods. I opened up my bag, and assembled the rod. My hand reached for the brightly coloured baits my dad had gifted me ages ago. But I stopped myself.
I walked over to the boulder. My usual spot. I threw the fishing rod back and pulled it forward with all my force, watching the line arc forward and hit the water with the smalled of 'blips'.
I sat down on the cold rock, wondering why I had not even brought my phone.
I sat there for a while, the ridiculousness of the situation somehow not managing to take root. Here I was, cold, without my phone, a baitless line cast in the lake.
What was I doing?
I sat for a while. And then a while more. And continued to sit as I watched the sun rise higher and higher, warming me and everything around me.
I did not want to be alone with my thoughts like this. I did not want to reflect on the relationship. On my wrongs. On hers. On the situations and incidents that led to this moment. I knew it. I knew all the small fights, the small disagreements, the little pent up anger and grievances that were never quite voiced that festered and coalesced and blossomed into wounds too large and too deep to tend to.
Through the haze and numbness I was painfully aware of it all. How could I not be? The only thing here was the feeling of cold and hard, sandpapery rock beneath me and the sound of the water almost imperceivably and silently lapping against the soil.
Was this supposed to be cathartic? Was this supposed to make me feel better? For hours the line stayed still. For hours I sat there, every new remembrance presenting a new dull ache. The tears coming and going, my throat tightening and loosening. The taste of my tears was constantly present in my mouth. Fresh snot formed as I violently rubbed it away.
But as all the experiences and memories good and bad cycled through my worn and beaten mind, it felt like I could focus more. The weird blankness my mind took as some kind of defense mechanism to deal with all the emotions eased a little as the day got brighter.
It was probably late afternoon when I reeled the empty line back in. I stared at the rod for a while, trying to break into a smile. I remembered a random thing my mother said. Something about my face setting itself into a grumpy expression permanently if all I did was frown.
I could not afford to look sad every time. I willed myself to smile, and when I did, I felt my facial muscles slacken, my eyes crinkle. The act of smiling itself seemed to lift the invisible baggage that weighed me down a little.
A little was enough. A little at a time.
I packed the rod back into its bag, and headed home, a slightest of a spring in my step as I trekked through the woods, more aware of them this time.
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"Huh? These are fortune cookies, not command cookies! Why is this even here?" Rob thought, taking a picture of said fortune. He didn't think of this as much and let it slide.
Fast forward a couple of days...
He was cleaning space on his phone, then he saw the photo again. He now thought that it was somewhat important information, so he bought a fishing rod, no bait, went to the woods, and fished.
A long wait and Rob thought all the time spent went to waste. He was about to head back and something finally took the hook. He just fished some form of heirloom, with no idea why it was there, or who put it there.
It was a golden pot, sealed with a lid and a bunch of glue.
It was inscribed with something, he just couldn't understand. Overcome with curiosity, he opened the container. It was some form of map, leading to something.
Something definitely felt wrong. Was this a time capsule or something? Or is it really extremely special treasure?
It definitely is not a map of his world, as it seemed off from the map he compared to on his phone.
He tried turning it upside down, flipped it even, but it still didn't make sense. He just decided to go back and suddenly realized he was definitely somewhere else...
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[WP] You're the first person to be sent to Mars. When you land you decide to take out your phone and take some photos so you can send them to your friends later. After a few minutes you get a notification: "NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE "HELP ME" DETECTED - WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?"
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Nothing says apocalyptic wasteland like a red dust storm. Walk out without a suit and you'll be stripped to bone as if you were swimming with piranhas. The scorching glare of the sun awakens something primal, reminding you why humanity, wherever they are, always come up with the notion of gods.
After checking my phone on the Martian surface, I was wondering whether I'd just gotten connected to one.
*NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE DETECTED: 'HELP ME'*
I'd been sitting in my graphite-foam igloo, hoping to receive delayed wireless transmissions from Earth on my phone. I'd cobbled together a small device and managed to argue that it would come in handy. Truth was the big communications central onboard the ship was expensive and energy-hungry and wasting it on reading late night celebrity gossip didn't feel right.
Then I got the message. Thinking it was either an error or a prank, I wasn't that shocked. It was probably Carl. He'd made fun of me for bringing my phone to Mars. "I'm not saying you're an addict, but you're the only person I can think of who would want to sit on their phone when they're literally on another planet."
*WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?*
This would be interesting. Knowing Carl, it would probably trigger the download of a Marvin the Martian clip. I agreed to connect, blissfully unaware of the life-threatening danger this would soon put me in.
Like I expected, it was a video. But what I had not expected was its actual contents. It wasn't Marvin. It wasn't a cartoon at all. It was live video footage. From Mars.
I could see the ship as well as the igloo. This didn't make any sense. While the footage was hazy, owing to the ongoing storm, there was no question about it. This was being filmed by someone, or something, right now.
As an experiment, I woke up the surveyor drone. It could handle a silly sand storm. I wasn't supposed to set it up before tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. It could still be a prank. Not a funny one, but a prank.
As VONNEGUT raised its robotic arm, I watched it do so in real-time.
Instinctively, I tossed my phone aside, as if it had been infected by a demon. I ran through my options. I could just ignore this. It sounded all too crazy, right? Surely no one would take something like this seriously? Then again, no. That was off the table. I could send a report back down to the base. But that would be pretty inefficient, each message taking twenty minutes to get from one to the other. It was better used for reports and updates. And this was more of I-have-to-do-something-right-now situation. Finally, there was VONNEGUT. What if I brought him to wherever the footage was coming from?
This struck me as the best option. VONNEGUT was equipped with a camera and various sensors. I could send him off to investigate on my behalf.
And that was just what I did. VONNEGUT obediently staggered over towards the location, unperturbed by the celestial sandpaper ravaging him. But as he got closer, I started to wonder whether I had lost my mind. I could see him moving closer on my phone, but VONNEGUT's camera wasn't picking up anything interesting. There were some red rocks, sure, but nothing like a recording device.
When I looked back at my phone, I froze. The perspective had shifted. Suddenly, the vantage point had been rotated at a 90-degree angle. There was something out there. And it was moving.
I sent VONNEGUT on another run, this time less confident.
This futile search carried on for hours. I could never catch a glimpse of whatever it was that moved about, filming me like some alien-freak voyeur. I was the only person on the red planet. The first. At least I had thought the latter was true. Now I was not so sure. Whatever it was that was playing with me, it was intelligent. The thought sent a deep shudder down my spine.
It would be more than two years before another window of opportunity for a rescue launch to be sent my way from Earth. In other words: I had to deal with this on my own. I took a deep breath. It had to be aliens. Aliens that learned to decipher our signals.
As I sat there, lost in a haze of desperation, my phone buzzed. It was an incoming call.
*To be continued*
---
/r/Hemingbird
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My grandmother was everything to me. I was luckier than most. My grandmother was a “young” grandma; my dad had me when he was just fifteen. It was a hard time for my dad. His brother Jeff, who was six years older than him died in a car accident. A young girl was on her phone and missed the red light. She t-boned him on the driver’s side, he died instantly. My dad was in a bad way, as he was only twelve at the time. The first year he spent grieving, often talking to nana about how he missed Jeff. They would tell stories to each other for comfort. Sometime later, though, the stories stopped, and emotions became bottled. My dad didn’t really know how to handle it at the time and Nana didn’t see the signs that he needed therapy. No one blames her; she lost a son and was grieving in her own way.
When my dad was fourteen, he started experimenting with drugs and alcohol. Experimenting became self-medicating, and self-medication lead to self-loathing. My dad found solace in a girl he had met at the mall, my mother, Jessica. They hit it off immediately, they were inseparable. Nana grew fond of Jessica, as she visited almost every day. One weekend, my mom and dad got ahold of some heroin and partied all night at her house. Well, apparently, they had so much fun that I was conceived. A son of a heroin user.
Nana found out about my dad and mom’s drug use and vowed to not let her son and future daughter-in-law, she just knew they would be together for always, parish in a life of drugs. She scraped and saved to help Jessica with the pregnancy. Nine months sober and I was born, but post-partum depression was too much for mom. Her and dad shot up a few eight-balls one night and never woke up. I was three months old.
Nana cared for me the best she could. Correcting many of the mistakes she made with her own three children. She worked odd jobs, sometimes five or six at a time, so that I would never go without. It was when I was about eight years old that I started piecing the puzzle together. I knew that something was eating at my nana’s mind, there was always this aura about her. Something deep, something sad. It wasn’t until I was about thirteen that I started asking questions about my family. We started talking more, she opened up about the past and how the passing of my uncle hurt my dad and shoved him on a path that she couldn’t detract him from. She cried for what seemed like days after telling me. I assured her that she did the best she could with what she was equipped with.
Over the next several years nana made sure that I was well prepared with my education and that I promised to stay away from drugs and alcohol. That was really her only rule. Don’t hurt anyone or yourself. I could stay out to all hours of the night, party with friends, have as many sleepovers as I wanted, as long I stayed on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t really too much to ask. Having almost unlimited freedom was amazing. One time, my friends and I went into an abandoned house down the street. We’d play hide-and-seek, tell ghost stories, eat smores (yes, I did light a fire in the house, but we were careful). We explored every inch of that Joslyn manor. It was such a cool place to hang out.
In fact, I remember this one room had a very odd-looking door. The design of the door didn’t quite go with the décor of the rest of the house. It was shades of midnight purple and blue, while the rest of the house was dark blue and cherry red. It was carved out of a mineral that I had never seen before and looked quite heavy. The patterns on the door were something that you would find on a Picasso painting. Shapes and objects mashed together, very odd-looking. My friends and I spent most of our time in that room since it has some of the coolest artifacts like a sword from the middle ages and a chariot with a lion head on the front. We would play for hours in that thing pretending we were gladiators in an arena waiting to battle for the hand of the maiden. Fun times.
Eventually, my friends and I moved on our separate ways. I graduated, when to University, and started a job a few cities over, where I oversaw shipping lines. Nana was so proud that I was able to succeed where her children could not. Three thousand students graduated university with me, and I swear nana’s cheers bellowed from the top row. I won’t lie, I teared up when I hear that sweet lady yelling. I didn’t have many people in my life, but her, I knew I could count on.
She came to visit me about three months into my first job. She wanted to bring me lunch, have me show her around, and just shoot the breeze. I was busy at work and I didn’t get to see nana as often as I had liked. So, we made a deal that we would alternate lunch; I would go to her place one week and she would come to mine. This time she surprised me at work.
“Charlie”, Rose said to her grandson. “I have some”, she paused slightly, “bad news.”
“What is it”, Charlie said with a soft voice.”
“I went to the doctor’s the other day to see if I could get something for this cough. Turns out I have terminal cancer and I only have a few months to live.”
I remember sinking in my chair not knowing what to say. Several questions buzzed through my head like a hummingbird looking for nectar, but the words wouldn’t come out. I took the rest of the day off and we talked about what the future would look like. One thing I remember more than anything from that conversation is a key nana gave to me. She said,
“Charlie, let this be the key to your kingdom. Everything you have, everything you will ever gain, means nothing unless you have a purpose. Do not take your job too seriously, you are very good at what you do, but make sure you find happiness, true happiness. I loved your mother like she was my own, I want you to have that same feeling. I am not saying go out and have great-grandbabies tomorrow, but make sure you take the time to appreciate the little things in life.”
Ten days after that conversation I received a call that nana had passed the night before. I was devastated beyond belief. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was alone, no parents, no grandmother, no friends, no one to call my family. It was too painful to go to my old house, so I went to the only place that I could grasp on to memories that wouldn’t tear me apart from the inside, Joslyn’s manor.
Joslyn’s manor looked like it had when I was a kid, except older somehow. I sneaked in the usual way and found myself reminiscing, fantasizing, about the good times. I eventually found my way into the parlor room with the odd-looking door. I sat in the chariot, pretending to whip the lion to go faster. As I walked around the room, once again admiring the artifacts, something caught my attention that I hadn’t notice before. A small, second, keyhole, about two feet below the one situated under the door handle. A small inscription read, Insert Your Key Here. I thought nothing of it and continued the rest of my lap before heading out.
I was fiddling with my pants pocket and I felt something that I had forgotten about. The key that nana handed to me not more than two weeks ago. I went to leave the room but something quietly nagged me in the back of my head. Insert your key here. I walked over to the door, took out nana’s key, and unlocked the door using the smaller of the two keyholes. The door clicked open and I pushed it to see what was behind it.
A loud voice, but not just any voice, nana Rose’s voice, beamed through the sky on the other side of the door.
“Charlie, welcome to your kingdom.”
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[WP] You're the first person to be sent to Mars. When you land you decide to take out your phone and take some photos so you can send them to your friends later. After a few minutes you get a notification: "NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE "HELP ME" DETECTED - WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?"
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Nothing says apocalyptic wasteland like a red dust storm. Walk out without a suit and you'll be stripped to bone as if you were swimming with piranhas. The scorching glare of the sun awakens something primal, reminding you why humanity, wherever they are, always come up with the notion of gods.
After checking my phone on the Martian surface, I was wondering whether I'd just gotten connected to one.
*NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE DETECTED: 'HELP ME'*
I'd been sitting in my graphite-foam igloo, hoping to receive delayed wireless transmissions from Earth on my phone. I'd cobbled together a small device and managed to argue that it would come in handy. Truth was the big communications central onboard the ship was expensive and energy-hungry and wasting it on reading late night celebrity gossip didn't feel right.
Then I got the message. Thinking it was either an error or a prank, I wasn't that shocked. It was probably Carl. He'd made fun of me for bringing my phone to Mars. "I'm not saying you're an addict, but you're the only person I can think of who would want to sit on their phone when they're literally on another planet."
*WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?*
This would be interesting. Knowing Carl, it would probably trigger the download of a Marvin the Martian clip. I agreed to connect, blissfully unaware of the life-threatening danger this would soon put me in.
Like I expected, it was a video. But what I had not expected was its actual contents. It wasn't Marvin. It wasn't a cartoon at all. It was live video footage. From Mars.
I could see the ship as well as the igloo. This didn't make any sense. While the footage was hazy, owing to the ongoing storm, there was no question about it. This was being filmed by someone, or something, right now.
As an experiment, I woke up the surveyor drone. It could handle a silly sand storm. I wasn't supposed to set it up before tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. It could still be a prank. Not a funny one, but a prank.
As VONNEGUT raised its robotic arm, I watched it do so in real-time.
Instinctively, I tossed my phone aside, as if it had been infected by a demon. I ran through my options. I could just ignore this. It sounded all too crazy, right? Surely no one would take something like this seriously? Then again, no. That was off the table. I could send a report back down to the base. But that would be pretty inefficient, each message taking twenty minutes to get from one to the other. It was better used for reports and updates. And this was more of I-have-to-do-something-right-now situation. Finally, there was VONNEGUT. What if I brought him to wherever the footage was coming from?
This struck me as the best option. VONNEGUT was equipped with a camera and various sensors. I could send him off to investigate on my behalf.
And that was just what I did. VONNEGUT obediently staggered over towards the location, unperturbed by the celestial sandpaper ravaging him. But as he got closer, I started to wonder whether I had lost my mind. I could see him moving closer on my phone, but VONNEGUT's camera wasn't picking up anything interesting. There were some red rocks, sure, but nothing like a recording device.
When I looked back at my phone, I froze. The perspective had shifted. Suddenly, the vantage point had been rotated at a 90-degree angle. There was something out there. And it was moving.
I sent VONNEGUT on another run, this time less confident.
This futile search carried on for hours. I could never catch a glimpse of whatever it was that moved about, filming me like some alien-freak voyeur. I was the only person on the red planet. The first. At least I had thought the latter was true. Now I was not so sure. Whatever it was that was playing with me, it was intelligent. The thought sent a deep shudder down my spine.
It would be more than two years before another window of opportunity for a rescue launch to be sent my way from Earth. In other words: I had to deal with this on my own. I took a deep breath. It had to be aliens. Aliens that learned to decipher our signals.
As I sat there, lost in a haze of desperation, my phone buzzed. It was an incoming call.
*To be continued*
---
/r/Hemingbird
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It was difficult to decipher the dust storm of thoughts that clouded Carlos Northman's mind, but the Olympus Mons of it was pride.
He was proud, of course,and why wouldn't he be? He would be the first man to set foot on Mars. There's certainly a prestige associated with that--and it was why he scrambled and fought for the position to be the foremost human there. As the Red Planet came into view, he marvelled at its iron beauty from the safety of his spacecraft--but it wouldn't be long. No, it would not be long.
The craft slowed down and entered the planetary orbit. A light thrust from the jets easily sent it in towards Mars, and as the machinery hissed--which Carlos knew to be its little feet for the eventual landing--the man couldn't help but smile, and could barely keep himself in his seat.
He set foot on Mars, then. There was untold elation, a tsunami of joy evident in his heart--but that quickly dissipated. What was the point of being the first man on Mars, if nobody else knew about it? So he took out his phone and smiled into the camera as the red filled the screen entirely.
That's the kind of view you get for being the first, for being the most capable--for being the first man on Mars. He couldn't send hte message to his friends yet, of course. But it might not be a long time before he could. After all, Carlos Northman, the first man on Mars--what else couldn't he do?
A familiar beep emanated from his device. He struggled to place it for a while, but it was the same sound that emerged when he connected to his Bluetooth speaker. Carlos checked his phone, noticing an unfamiliar notification.
> NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE "HELP ME" DETECTED - WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?
Carlos gulped. He looked around wildly, bouncing erratically. The connection was weak. He opened up a song, and played it. He could hear a familiar tune float over the unoccupied airwaves, and he stepped, slowly, towards his new quest.
He was afraid, of course. What did it mean? Was somebody stranded on Mars? Was it a practical joke of some kind? Did some colleague of his, jealous, send a rover with a Bluetooth speaker to screw with him because he was the first man on Mars?
There was a small dugout. There was a door. There was clearly another person on Mars. He hesitated, but he knocked. It was only polite.
"What?" was the word he heard, before a brief scramble came to the door. The doorknob clicked and turned, opening up to reveal another man standing behind the door?
"What," Carlos blurted out. "The hell is going on?"
"A visitor?" the stranger muttered. "That's faster than expected."
The stranger turned towards Carlos.
"Are you the one that's being playing your song through that speaker?"
"Yes," Carlos said. "I thought I was the first man on Mars."
"Well, you are not," the stranger said. A gloved hand reached out. "I'm Eskar."
"Carlos," said Carlos. He did not shake the hand, but rather started scanning the room. It was simple and bare bones, with nothing conspicuous but the speaker currently blaring the crooning of David Bowie.
"Can you please turn that off?" Eskar asked. He let his hand drop. "I would prefer not to be disturbed."
"Oh, of course," Carlos said. "I... I'm just a bit confused, that's all."
"About? You being the first man on Mars?"
"Yes. First and only," Carlos shook his head. "And then my phone connected to this random Bluetooth device, you know? And the device name is 'help me.' Pretty funny, if you ask me."
"Ah," Esakr smiled. "Help me. Just a funny joke."
"So... do you need any help?" Carlos asked. "There are supplies in my ship. Or a ride back to Earth. Something."
"No," Eskar said. "I don't need any help."
"Curious," Carlos shook his head. "How are you here? How did you get here?"
"You don't need to know," Eskar said, terse but polite.
"I think I do," Carlos said. "Look, I'm here on a mission."
"What's the mission?"
Carlos bit his tongue. He... wasn't sure?
"Look, there will be people telling me," Carlos said. "After all, I'm the first per--um, person on Mars. There's a plan for me."
"There isn't," Eskar smiled.
"What?"
"You are stranded here," Eskar said. "You and I. The only men on Mars. Tough spot to survive, honestly."
"That's not very funny," Carlos said, slowly backing away from the door.
He didn't expect it when Eskar launched, a flash of steel in his hands, at a speed wholly unfamiliar to him. Carlos gasped, his suit pierced, and his breath sucked out in an instant.
"Help me," Eskar shook his head. "That darned Rachel and her speaker. Clever girl, I suppose."
Eskar looked towards Carlos, who now gasped like a fish out of water--or a human on Mars.
"It's not personal, Carlos," Eskar said. "But I'm the first and only man on Mars."
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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I sigh heavily and kneels before Five, looking at his eyes. "Now, we face a terrible situation." I explained as I can already hear shouting and talks around the room.
"But don't fret, Five. I have a solution." As I smile toward Five. "Really, Thirty? You have a solution?" Five ask me, his worry easing away.
"Yes, Five. And it also involves, nay, needs you for it to work." I answered Five while holding his shoulder with one hand. "Me? You need me, Thirty? Then I'll do my best!" Five said with a bright smile.
"Attaboy." I said as I grab both his leg and lifted him up. "Uhh, Thirty?" Five asked confused. "Remember, stay limber." I told Five as I walk towards the largest group.
Using Five like a baseball bat, I swung him hard against the group, hearing bones breaking and teeth flying. Two down. While the rest was still stunned, I rushed them, wildly swinging the screaming Five.
It took half an hour, but everyone aside from me and my unconscious bat, Five is down on the ground, bleeding and groaning in pain. I then asked who's in charge? The one that say no got extra beating until he changed his tune. When Five is barely conscious, I ask him too. He nodded his head telling that yes, I'm in charge now.
A door appear with the word in charge on it. I toss Five aside as I walked through the door, smiling. Not everyday you can beat yourself thoroughly.
|
"I don't know bud. But I'm sitting this one out."
As I walked over to the corner of the room, I felt the slight tug of my again,
"Can I come with you please? I feel a little scared."
As I looked behind me I saw the young, bright haired boy slide forward, toe then heel, toe then heel, until he took his place beside me again. Man, I forgot I used to walk like that.
"Here. You can sit down in front of me. I'll keep my arms around you, so there is no need to feel too scared. I'll keep ya safe."
Five-year old me nestled in and gripped my arm. "Are you the oldest?"
I felt a smile tug at the corner of my lips. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, you're the only one here with such a long beard. You remind me of a pirate."
"Maybe we become pirates one day." A shimmer of excitement lit up in his eyes. "How old do you think I am?"
Five year old me squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow, clearly attempting to impress his older self. As he was counting his fingers, I felt a twinge of sadness pluck my heart. Wanting love is something I had grown accustomed to as an adult, something I didn't have any strong feelings for. It is what it is. But now, as I look into the round, hazel eyes of this sweet, eager little boy, I am floored that even this at this age, I had begun to feel like something was missing.
"Umm...20!" His eyes flashed with triumph.
I felt my smile return as I tussled his bright orange hair. "Not quite bud. But very close. I am actually 26, believe it or not. Although, I feel a little older from time to time."
"Bud!? That's what Papa calls us! Does he still call us that when I am your age?"
I wished he still did. But this kid is going through it. I don't need to sadden the scared boy any more than the situation already does.
"Yeah, he still does."
His gap toothed grin spread through his face again and I felt a warm glow in my chest.
"Umm, hey...uh...are you like the old timer?"
I turned to take in what looked like the twelve year old version of me. Baggy jean shorts, white wife beater, and axe body spray assaulted all of my senses in a barrage of nostalgia and mortified embarrassment.
"Your pants are too big" said five year old me. Always honest.
"Psh, its the fashion. You'll get it later. Besides, I am talking to the bearded man with long hair. How old are you? We've been keeping a tally." he asked.
"26."
"Great! That makes you the oldest. We all decided it would be easiest to just follow the oldest. 20 and 13 had a stubborn streak for a bit, but we were all able to smooth it out. We figured you probably have your shit together the most, so why don't you go ahead and take charge so we can all get out of here?"
I felt my stomach churn.
"Nah, I'm good. Someone else can take the lead."
"C'mon man, don't be a dickhead. Just go with it. We already spent all this time convincing the others. I doubt we can do it again. I'm sure you got your shit to go back to too. So, like, do it."
I shrugged. "Actually, I don't have a lot to go back to. Since your me, I'll level with you. But first...hey lil one." I nudged 5 year old me who seemed to be nodding off on my knee. "Pre-teen us just told me 4 year old you needs some help with something. Mine going to help him out real quick? I'll be here when you get back."
He rubbed his eyes and look up dazed. "Umm...yeah, okay." He yawned as he began to waddle over to the younger kids .
"So, like, what's the big deal man?"
I turned to younger me. "Before coming here, I was actually planning on killing myself."
EDIT: Will continue if people show any interest
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|
[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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**Disclaimer: I am not revealing my real age in this. I will use a fake age for privacy reasons.**
I’m currently 20. “Five. Calm down. We will all handle this together.” Before Five can respond, Fourteen blurts out. “I’m as worried as they are!” *Great… they’re a representation of the worst period of my life.* I take a deep breath, managing to keep my composure. Somehow. “Fourteen. I know. Five was the one who PULLED ON MY SHIRT, for goodness sake.”
—
Fourteen lost the person they least expected. They [Fourteen] never knew that the now-deceased person was on their deathbed when they [the now-deceased person] were. Their [Fourteen] anxiety skyrocketed. They never knew how to expect themself to be human, meaning imprefection. Never.
—
I pause, letting other versions of me talk for just a slight second. I ponder on what to say at the speech I plan to perform. *Five is the youngest one who is verbal, so they’re the youngest one that can perform a speech along with anyone else.* I step up to the podium. “Alright. Everyone will have time to make speeches on why they’re the best suit to take charge for all of us. Our time starts… Now!”
—
**edit! yes, i do know i’m not a very strong writer. that’s okay, because it’s a hobby of mine, and at least i don’t plan to publish anything LMAO**
|
"I don't know bud. But I'm sitting this one out."
As I walked over to the corner of the room, I felt the slight tug of my again,
"Can I come with you please? I feel a little scared."
As I looked behind me I saw the young, bright haired boy slide forward, toe then heel, toe then heel, until he took his place beside me again. Man, I forgot I used to walk like that.
"Here. You can sit down in front of me. I'll keep my arms around you, so there is no need to feel too scared. I'll keep ya safe."
Five-year old me nestled in and gripped my arm. "Are you the oldest?"
I felt a smile tug at the corner of my lips. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, you're the only one here with such a long beard. You remind me of a pirate."
"Maybe we become pirates one day." A shimmer of excitement lit up in his eyes. "How old do you think I am?"
Five year old me squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow, clearly attempting to impress his older self. As he was counting his fingers, I felt a twinge of sadness pluck my heart. Wanting love is something I had grown accustomed to as an adult, something I didn't have any strong feelings for. It is what it is. But now, as I look into the round, hazel eyes of this sweet, eager little boy, I am floored that even this at this age, I had begun to feel like something was missing.
"Umm...20!" His eyes flashed with triumph.
I felt my smile return as I tussled his bright orange hair. "Not quite bud. But very close. I am actually 26, believe it or not. Although, I feel a little older from time to time."
"Bud!? That's what Papa calls us! Does he still call us that when I am your age?"
I wished he still did. But this kid is going through it. I don't need to sadden the scared boy any more than the situation already does.
"Yeah, he still does."
His gap toothed grin spread through his face again and I felt a warm glow in my chest.
"Umm, hey...uh...are you like the old timer?"
I turned to take in what looked like the twelve year old version of me. Baggy jean shorts, white wife beater, and axe body spray assaulted all of my senses in a barrage of nostalgia and mortified embarrassment.
"Your pants are too big" said five year old me. Always honest.
"Psh, its the fashion. You'll get it later. Besides, I am talking to the bearded man with long hair. How old are you? We've been keeping a tally." he asked.
"26."
"Great! That makes you the oldest. We all decided it would be easiest to just follow the oldest. 20 and 13 had a stubborn streak for a bit, but we were all able to smooth it out. We figured you probably have your shit together the most, so why don't you go ahead and take charge so we can all get out of here?"
I felt my stomach churn.
"Nah, I'm good. Someone else can take the lead."
"C'mon man, don't be a dickhead. Just go with it. We already spent all this time convincing the others. I doubt we can do it again. I'm sure you got your shit to go back to too. So, like, do it."
I shrugged. "Actually, I don't have a lot to go back to. Since your me, I'll level with you. But first...hey lil one." I nudged 5 year old me who seemed to be nodding off on my knee. "Pre-teen us just told me 4 year old you needs some help with something. Mine going to help him out real quick? I'll be here when you get back."
He rubbed his eyes and look up dazed. "Umm...yeah, okay." He yawned as he began to waddle over to the younger kids .
"So, like, what's the big deal man?"
I turned to younger me. "Before coming here, I was actually planning on killing myself."
EDIT: Will continue if people show any interest
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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I sigh heavily and kneels before Five, looking at his eyes. "Now, we face a terrible situation." I explained as I can already hear shouting and talks around the room.
"But don't fret, Five. I have a solution." As I smile toward Five. "Really, Thirty? You have a solution?" Five ask me, his worry easing away.
"Yes, Five. And it also involves, nay, needs you for it to work." I answered Five while holding his shoulder with one hand. "Me? You need me, Thirty? Then I'll do my best!" Five said with a bright smile.
"Attaboy." I said as I grab both his leg and lifted him up. "Uhh, Thirty?" Five asked confused. "Remember, stay limber." I told Five as I walk towards the largest group.
Using Five like a baseball bat, I swung him hard against the group, hearing bones breaking and teeth flying. Two down. While the rest was still stunned, I rushed them, wildly swinging the screaming Five.
It took half an hour, but everyone aside from me and my unconscious bat, Five is down on the ground, bleeding and groaning in pain. I then asked who's in charge? The one that say no got extra beating until he changed his tune. When Five is barely conscious, I ask him too. He nodded his head telling that yes, I'm in charge now.
A door appear with the word in charge on it. I toss Five aside as I walked through the door, smiling. Not everyday you can beat yourself thoroughly.
|
\[Inspiration taken from Douglas Adams\]
There I am, dumbfounded by the whole scene. I wake up looking at all the previous versions of me throughout the years. The first thought that pops into my mind "Is this really the challenge that they thought would find the solution to all of humanities problems?" The Vogons were quite unbearable. They were supposed to be a super-intelligent race of extraterrestrials that travel the galaxies solving near-impossible problems. This was there latest attempt.
Previous attempts included: Inventing the 3-legged race, Hiding hidden messages in songs when played backwards, Creating a mass of floating plastic the size of Texas in the Pacific, and the show Jersey Shore. Of course, none of these things work, but they assured me to go through with a grand experiment and they could find the answer.
So, my 5 year-old self looks at me with bewilderment, hoping that I can bring this "game" to a proper conclusion. I frantically look around the crowded room. The next thought is this room is full of annoying idiots, "Oh wait, they're all me...eeesh, that's awkward. I'll have to keep that thought to myself. I shouldn't get so down on myself...or something." Then I see my 1 year-old self, without thinking much at all I just shout, "Quick, someone take care of the little one." Immediately, several of the other me's that are closer pick up the 1 year-old and 2 year-old.
A bell rings and green lights start flashing. I guess I did technically give an order and everyone else complied. Out of pure luck did I just find the solution to the game? I didn't even get to the negotiations, or fighting, or diplomacy. A frustrated Vogon unlocks a door and walks in from the viewing room with a clipboard. No doubts, the Vogons had been on the other side of the one-way mirror patting each other on the back and talking about how smart they all are. "There must be something wrong with the sensory equipment," the Vogon says, "it just need some quick calibration. I'll be right back with my tools." He's mostly talking to himself and no one in particular. He walks out and I hear a lot of commotion. After it gets quiet I decide to go check it out. The place is empty so I run to window facing outside and I see the mothership blasting off into space never to be heard from again.
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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**Disclaimer: I am not revealing my real age in this. I will use a fake age for privacy reasons.**
I’m currently 20. “Five. Calm down. We will all handle this together.” Before Five can respond, Fourteen blurts out. “I’m as worried as they are!” *Great… they’re a representation of the worst period of my life.* I take a deep breath, managing to keep my composure. Somehow. “Fourteen. I know. Five was the one who PULLED ON MY SHIRT, for goodness sake.”
—
Fourteen lost the person they least expected. They [Fourteen] never knew that the now-deceased person was on their deathbed when they [the now-deceased person] were. Their [Fourteen] anxiety skyrocketed. They never knew how to expect themself to be human, meaning imprefection. Never.
—
I pause, letting other versions of me talk for just a slight second. I ponder on what to say at the speech I plan to perform. *Five is the youngest one who is verbal, so they’re the youngest one that can perform a speech along with anyone else.* I step up to the podium. “Alright. Everyone will have time to make speeches on why they’re the best suit to take charge for all of us. Our time starts… Now!”
—
**edit! yes, i do know i’m not a very strong writer. that’s okay, because it’s a hobby of mine, and at least i don’t plan to publish anything LMAO**
|
\[Inspiration taken from Douglas Adams\]
There I am, dumbfounded by the whole scene. I wake up looking at all the previous versions of me throughout the years. The first thought that pops into my mind "Is this really the challenge that they thought would find the solution to all of humanities problems?" The Vogons were quite unbearable. They were supposed to be a super-intelligent race of extraterrestrials that travel the galaxies solving near-impossible problems. This was there latest attempt.
Previous attempts included: Inventing the 3-legged race, Hiding hidden messages in songs when played backwards, Creating a mass of floating plastic the size of Texas in the Pacific, and the show Jersey Shore. Of course, none of these things work, but they assured me to go through with a grand experiment and they could find the answer.
So, my 5 year-old self looks at me with bewilderment, hoping that I can bring this "game" to a proper conclusion. I frantically look around the crowded room. The next thought is this room is full of annoying idiots, "Oh wait, they're all me...eeesh, that's awkward. I'll have to keep that thought to myself. I shouldn't get so down on myself...or something." Then I see my 1 year-old self, without thinking much at all I just shout, "Quick, someone take care of the little one." Immediately, several of the other me's that are closer pick up the 1 year-old and 2 year-old.
A bell rings and green lights start flashing. I guess I did technically give an order and everyone else complied. Out of pure luck did I just find the solution to the game? I didn't even get to the negotiations, or fighting, or diplomacy. A frustrated Vogon unlocks a door and walks in from the viewing room with a clipboard. No doubts, the Vogons had been on the other side of the one-way mirror patting each other on the back and talking about how smart they all are. "There must be something wrong with the sensory equipment," the Vogon says, "it just need some quick calibration. I'll be right back with my tools." He's mostly talking to himself and no one in particular. He walks out and I hear a lot of commotion. After it gets quiet I decide to go check it out. The place is empty so I run to window facing outside and I see the mothership blasting off into space never to be heard from again.
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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The Boss of Me Now
It was one of those dreams where I left a basement party by walking through a wide arched doorway, and I'd entered a different place that couldn't possibly be adjacent to the last place I'd been. And yet, it felt just as real as that other place, which actually seemed more like a dream now. I turned to have one last look at it before I forgot it completely, but all that remained now was a simple door to a closet or something, and I couldn't think of anything that I needed from the closet.
Turning back I saw a wide space that could probably host small parties that was ringed with chairs but no tables. There were about fifty people of all ages milling about, muttering, mumbling, not making much eye contact with one another. It took a moment to realize that they were indeed all different ages, because they were all me, and I was all of them. From Roy Boy to Roy Man.
Someone, me, of course, said, "We're all here now." After that, the wandering Roys stopped milling about and found seats. They didn't seem to be assigned, or anything, it wasn't chronological, so I just walked toward the nearest empty seats. Other mes, one in his 20s, one likely in his 40s but I still looked late 30s were approaching the same spots. We all stopped, and each took a step back and waved an arm toward the others to take the seat. The impasse broke when 20-something shrugged and sat down, leaving his elders standing. I thought I'd known better, but I would've respected an elder's wish that I take a seat, so there's that. I retreated and found a spot next to a very shy, five-year-old me.
When we were all seated, I looked around the room to see who was talking to whom and what information they were sharing. I wondered if I'd remember any of it, and I felt like I would, but then I felt like it was a dream again and that wouldn't make sense. But maybe it could. It seemed real enough.
"So why are we here?" asked one of the mid-30s Roys. I remembered his shirt that I got on vacation down South. It was still in my dresser, and maybe it still fit.
First-gray hairs Roy pointed to the wall, "there's a sign up there on the wall."
Sixteen-year-old Roy squinted at the sheet. Next to him, seventeen-year-old Roy pushed his new glasses up the bridge of his nose. Odd, because I never wear my glasses in my dreams, and I always see perfectly. Then again, they weren't me. Not at the moment. Either way, the two of them asked at the same time, "What does it say?"
I couldn't see it to read it, but only because of the distance. No one else spoke up, and nobody moved at first, and finally one Roy, who was closest except for the 45-year-old me who had his arms folded and didn't want to get up, the 26-year-old Roy stood and walked to the note on the wall.
"It says 'Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy.'"
Everyone looked at one another. A few of us scratch our heads, or rubbed our chins. One might've been picking his nose and trying to make sure no one would see. But, c'mon, we all knew. How could we not?
The five-year-old pull on my shirt tail, which was the first time I noticed I was wearing a collared shirt because I thought I had on a turtleneck before when I was attending a party at ... some other place, but that might've been a couple of weeks or months ago when I was there. Anyway, little kid Roy pulled my shirt and asked, "so what happens now?"
Standing Roy surveyed the seated bunch assembled about him. "Anyone want to be in charge?"
More stares, shrugs and murmuring.
Then the 26-year-old looked to his one-year-junior self and said. "You thought you had it together. Wanna be in charge?"
Horror crossed the 25-year-old's face, as much from being the first one singled out as the thought of leadership. He shook in his is a slight but frenzied manner, reminiscent of a vibrating toy dog.
"How about 35 Roy? You actually did have it together. At least for a while."
Roy 35 cleared his throat, twice, and muttered, "uh ... I don't want to be in charge." He looked to his left. "Do you want to be in charge?"
"Not me," said, I think Roy 19, who tried to pass the buck to Roy 42, who knew about life and everything. By the time, he declined, most of the room, was shaking their heads and mumbling their lack of interest.
A frightening sight to behold as everyone was ready to let someone else have the job, even if that someone else was them, too. The five-year-old tugged again. "Do you think they'll let me be in charge? WhaddaIgotta do to be in charge?"
This gave me the first smile since I came into the room. "No, I don't think you could be, even if I wish you were ready back then." I ran my fingers through his hair and gave them a shake until he had major bed head. "I think I have to be, because I'm the oldest. That's how it always worked in the family, even when it didn't work. And that's how it should work here. I think we're here ... I think I'm here ... because something or someone is trying to tell me that at fifty, I need to take charge of my life, of all our lives."
I stood up and started to the center of the circle. I was ready to speak up when the lights started flickering on and off, and then flashing around like a strobe light aimed at a mirrored ball. Music started blasting and the closet door burst open, and all my friends, some whom I haven't seen in forever, came dancing through the doorway and took over the floor. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment trying to remember something. Something important.
And then I realized what it was. The music playing ... was my alarm clock.
My eyes opened. I stretched, yawned and hit snooze as a reflex. Sitting up, I held my face in my hands. I couldn't remember much, but I knew there was something I wanted and needed to do. Maybe I'd think of it in the shower, or it would come to me driving in to work. God, I hated that place.
&#x200B;
Edit to add: More stories at r/xwhy
Plus the title.
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One's too young, and two is too.
Three's not me yet, nor is four.
But Five? Alive, engrossed by tricks he'd surely master by age Six got mixed up though, when heaven claimed his sister. Never met, but Seven missed her. Eight was late with social cues, but masked so no one knew that things were drifting slightly south of fine. Or even noticed him, by Nine. But sometimes he'd get funny looks, it seemed the world he knew from books was but a dream. Where every question could be answered and no one you cared for got...
uncomfortable when Ten's jokes broke what had barely passed for rythym. Now he'd give em thunderstorms. "Dark? Over your head?" He said, "I know you people aren't brain dead" and "I'm no prodigy but I think we've just Turned it to Eleven" (me and all the other mes in heaven or wherever clever, bored, misguided miscreants are bound when Twelve's true peers are not easily found, at least not in that town.) It sounds like Thirteen's not as unlucky as constant frowning seems to be when no one understands, but they all see. Fourteen wasted years went by in a chemical blur, yet still he'd through more luck than sense found *her* and she was quite more than enough. But irony was not just rough, it was plain grim. For though he'd met her, Thirteen more years would pass before he found HIM-selves in the mirror and said "Holy fucking shit!"
Why didn't any of you quit? You think I'm dealing with this..."
"SHHHH!" Insisted one overlooked child among the ones who never smiled. But this one SEEMED to wear a grin. "Come, look" he said, the book he read obscuring from my view his as-yet-unfucked little head. As I was led around a corner, the cold world got a degree or two warmer. Although some hearts might have sunk thinking he'd collected junk, I'm only humbled. "Who'd have thunk...?" I finally mumbled. He could have left us long ago and half these fuckers wouldn't know or care. But yet 5 dared to tag along through all the self inflicted trauma and the damage, (visibly scarred though never thought to trouble anyone for even just a bandage) all the while collecting all the toppled building blocks of joy that he could manage to carry. And with all that, he'd been entertaining a cat or two, that we could never have when we were him, but always wanted. I don't even think he heard, if misanthropic drunken neanderthals taunted, and his smile remained undaunted though he'd long since learned to hide it not flaunt it. (Well ok sometimes he still did, for after all he's still a kid)
With doubt still ringing in my head, I realize now why we aren't dead.
We're still alive.
Thanks for your question, it's a good one.
Now Gimme Five.
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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"Well, seeing as I'm the oldest one here, I suppose I'm in charge." I said as I looked at the other mes, never thinking I'd be in this position at 23. "That's not fair though, why should you be in charge just because you're the oldest?" One of my teenage selves said.
"This is gonna get confusing if I can't remember who is who. Anyone got a marker?" I asked before one of my younger selves pulled out a glitter marker. I took it and marked everyone's heads with their corresponding ages. "Okay, now, uh, fifteen, why shouldn't I be in charge?"
"Well, at the age I'm at the age we seem to already have a good handle on things."
"No you aren't." Both 16 and 17 said in unison. "Thank you both." 21 said to them. "Oldest is the wisest." 13 said. "And the wise man was once the fool." 15 said.
"Dad really likes using that one still." 22 said, seeming to be in deep thought. A blanket of silence fell over us before 5 tugged my shirt again. "Why are you the oldest?"
"I don't know." I said as I looked at innocence I once had so long ago, my eyes briefly going to 6 and seeing that light in her eyes gone. "Logic dictates that time never stops. So don't tell me you're the last one of us." 22 said as she looked at me with worry.
16 had that brief fear of concern flash on her face before her eyes trailed down to my wrists to make sure her suspicion wasn't confirmed.
I ignored the look, but I knew something none of the others knew, as I had only just found out recently. "No, I hope I'm not the last one..." I said, as I unconsciously reached up to rub my throat.
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One's too young, and two is too.
Three's not me yet, nor is four.
But Five? Alive, engrossed by tricks he'd surely master by age Six got mixed up though, when heaven claimed his sister. Never met, but Seven missed her. Eight was late with social cues, but masked so no one knew that things were drifting slightly south of fine. Or even noticed him, by Nine. But sometimes he'd get funny looks, it seemed the world he knew from books was but a dream. Where every question could be answered and no one you cared for got...
uncomfortable when Ten's jokes broke what had barely passed for rythym. Now he'd give em thunderstorms. "Dark? Over your head?" He said, "I know you people aren't brain dead" and "I'm no prodigy but I think we've just Turned it to Eleven" (me and all the other mes in heaven or wherever clever, bored, misguided miscreants are bound when Twelve's true peers are not easily found, at least not in that town.) It sounds like Thirteen's not as unlucky as constant frowning seems to be when no one understands, but they all see. Fourteen wasted years went by in a chemical blur, yet still he'd through more luck than sense found *her* and she was quite more than enough. But irony was not just rough, it was plain grim. For though he'd met her, Thirteen more years would pass before he found HIM-selves in the mirror and said "Holy fucking shit!"
Why didn't any of you quit? You think I'm dealing with this..."
"SHHHH!" Insisted one overlooked child among the ones who never smiled. But this one SEEMED to wear a grin. "Come, look" he said, the book he read obscuring from my view his as-yet-unfucked little head. As I was led around a corner, the cold world got a degree or two warmer. Although some hearts might have sunk thinking he'd collected junk, I'm only humbled. "Who'd have thunk...?" I finally mumbled. He could have left us long ago and half these fuckers wouldn't know or care. But yet 5 dared to tag along through all the self inflicted trauma and the damage, (visibly scarred though never thought to trouble anyone for even just a bandage) all the while collecting all the toppled building blocks of joy that he could manage to carry. And with all that, he'd been entertaining a cat or two, that we could never have when we were him, but always wanted. I don't even think he heard, if misanthropic drunken neanderthals taunted, and his smile remained undaunted though he'd long since learned to hide it not flaunt it. (Well ok sometimes he still did, for after all he's still a kid)
With doubt still ringing in my head, I realize now why we aren't dead.
We're still alive.
Thanks for your question, it's a good one.
Now Gimme Five.
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[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
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I smelled her before I heard her,
"So what happens now?" A girl with a matching pink shirt and skirt asks, her hair matted and frizzy, her lisp bringing me back to lighter days.
Lately, I've found myself very smell sensitive. And at once, it was like I was filled with every smell I've ever carried - one of body odor from a young age, head and shoulders shampoo, bath and body works perfume attempting to cling to weed and cigarette smoke, ex-lovers, and weak attempts at gender-neutral cologne.
By the time my senses had calmed down, the many versions of myself had already clumped into age groups. All of the children below 6 kept each other company, the youngest of me fast asleep as they always were - completely well behaved. They held each other and held their stuffed animals - looking for any comfort in the unfamiliar. A group of four - I'm assuming from 7 to 11, had formed a tight circle and glanced around nervously, whispering and nervously laughing, a habit I picked up around those ages. A few sat against the wall near each other, picking at their fingernails and leg scabs from some of my first self-harm scars. As we went up in age, the groups became smaller and more distinct - the 15 and 16 year old, each a different gender, stood near each other, their eyes glazed over as they held hands and seemed to share a glance of "Are we the only ones high in this room?"
The most puzzling of all of them was the 17 and 18 year old. Each looked equally awkward and uncomfortable in their skin, the long shifts and binging taking a toll on their bodies. However, the 17 year old was wearing an Abercrombie sweater, out of place in a sea of queer children attempting to discover themselves. The 18 year old hugged her tightly, crying, digging her face into the sweater, while the 17-year old looked like they were about to be sick.
The 19 and 20 year old also looked at me, patiently waiting for guidance. I was 21 - I was the oldest of them. I looked for someone older than me, both for leadership and for a sign that I wouldn't kill myself this year. It looked like it was just me.
The oldest of the two smirked, one of them asking, "Have you learned how to make decisions yet?" almost mockingly. I couldn't help but smile - I haven't learned how to make decisions, and that's something I would mock myself with exactly. The 5 year old pulled on me again, beginning to cry, "Are you me? What are we going to do? Where are we?" I felt the 19 year old, living in her own world, touching my hair, "I like your haircut. You look great - when did you lose so much weight?"
Brushing the older girl aside, I leaned down to the younger version of me, imagining all of the things I wanted to say - the hours I've spent writing letters to myself as a younger person, wanting to tell myself it would all be okay, and we'll figure it out. I looked at the wall, "That says 'Who's in Charge?', so we have to figure out who will be in charge. It's gonna be okay, the older kids can figure it out."
In this time, everyone in the room became aware of my presence. Looking the oldest, they all looked at me. All of the teenage versions of myself looked fascinated, and it pained me to know what each one of them thought about me - some admired me, but for the wrong reasons.
I laughed nervously, "So this is kind of funny, right guys? We always wondered what would happen if we were put in a room with each age. Does anyone know what's going on?"
The 14 year old raised her hand, the confidence of 8th grade standing out to those around her age. "I showed up first. The last thing I remember is falling asleep, and I had a dream about a house fire. I ended up here. I tapped around the walls, and they seem to be pretty hollow. I think we can break through. Do you think this is a dream?"
The 17-year old butted in, "You can't just make stupid decisions like that on the fly. This might be real, and we can get into a lot of trouble if we break things. You can never think of fucking consequences!" Her voice cracked, probably startled by the news of her future breakup, and the 18-year old put her hands on the girl's shoulders.
The 14 year old stared for a moment, looking like she wanted to cry. She spoke quieter, "Why would you say that? You know how insecure I am about that."
The 10 year old, worn with the largest burden of family trauma, spoke up, "We should probably just do what it says, right?"
A few of the teenagers began to whisper to each other. The children looked confused and nervous. The babies began to stir from sleep, holding themselves gently.
The 18 year old, looking almost as slim as me, stared at me with such perplexion. "What happens?"
I sighed, feeling overwhelmed, and understanding I wanted answers, "What do you want to know?"
"What happened with her? Did she come back?"
The 20 year old laughed. "Of course she did! And then she left again, and then she came back and left again! Right after your 20th birthday! You can't help but remind her of all the things she can't be, all the parts of her she has to hide away. Of course that's all you care about knowing - you were obsessed with her. Co-de-pen-dent." She mocked.
The 17 year old looked like she was going to throw up.
I sighed, "Yeah, that. But we have forgiven her, we have moved on."
The 19 year old spoke up, "Did she block you again?"
"Of course she did." I said quietly.
The 13 year old raised her hand, "Are you still depressed?"
"Yeah. But I'm on medication. I feel better than you do, that's for sure."
The 10 year old looked like she was about to cry as well, "Did your sister kill herself?"
I smiled, "No, she didn't. She's been on the west coast for a few years for grad school. She's doing great."
The 15 year old rolled his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, the withdrawals beginning to hit him, "Can we get this over with? Please?"
I thought for a second, taking initiative for one of the first times in my life, "Who thinks that I should be in charge?"
Everyone under 11 raised their hands, as well as everyone over 18. The teenagers looked skeptical. The 14 year old, the one who tapped on the walls and plays too many video games, raised her hand again, "I think it's a trap. I've been hearing a man's voice through the walls. I think we should try and break out. We might all be tortured."
"Or do the human centipede", 11 year old me added.
"Oh shut up! You faked cancer, you don't get to speak on any of this!" The 13 year old me whispered, the intense look of middle school scaring the younger ones.
"Fuck this." 14 year old me declared, running up to the wall and shoving her body into it, denting the plaster. All of those ages around her began to do the same, while the younger ones watched in horror, the babies began to cry, and those over 16 were paralyzed with fear, the trauma response kicking in.
The 20 year old came up and stood next to me, nudging us like we were buddies, "We were just too mentally ill then, huh?"
The babies were crawling up to me, the children crowding slightly behind, the tinnitus from my medications becoming overwhelming.
"I probably should've made more peace with my inner children before this situation happened." I sighed, losing all hope of a solution, feeling angry at myself, taking a step away from the 20-year-old, "And you still use people for your personal gain and sex. You're no better."
|
One's too young, and two is too.
Three's not me yet, nor is four.
But Five? Alive, engrossed by tricks he'd surely master by age Six got mixed up though, when heaven claimed his sister. Never met, but Seven missed her. Eight was late with social cues, but masked so no one knew that things were drifting slightly south of fine. Or even noticed him, by Nine. But sometimes he'd get funny looks, it seemed the world he knew from books was but a dream. Where every question could be answered and no one you cared for got...
uncomfortable when Ten's jokes broke what had barely passed for rythym. Now he'd give em thunderstorms. "Dark? Over your head?" He said, "I know you people aren't brain dead" and "I'm no prodigy but I think we've just Turned it to Eleven" (me and all the other mes in heaven or wherever clever, bored, misguided miscreants are bound when Twelve's true peers are not easily found, at least not in that town.) It sounds like Thirteen's not as unlucky as constant frowning seems to be when no one understands, but they all see. Fourteen wasted years went by in a chemical blur, yet still he'd through more luck than sense found *her* and she was quite more than enough. But irony was not just rough, it was plain grim. For though he'd met her, Thirteen more years would pass before he found HIM-selves in the mirror and said "Holy fucking shit!"
Why didn't any of you quit? You think I'm dealing with this..."
"SHHHH!" Insisted one overlooked child among the ones who never smiled. But this one SEEMED to wear a grin. "Come, look" he said, the book he read obscuring from my view his as-yet-unfucked little head. As I was led around a corner, the cold world got a degree or two warmer. Although some hearts might have sunk thinking he'd collected junk, I'm only humbled. "Who'd have thunk...?" I finally mumbled. He could have left us long ago and half these fuckers wouldn't know or care. But yet 5 dared to tag along through all the self inflicted trauma and the damage, (visibly scarred though never thought to trouble anyone for even just a bandage) all the while collecting all the toppled building blocks of joy that he could manage to carry. And with all that, he'd been entertaining a cat or two, that we could never have when we were him, but always wanted. I don't even think he heard, if misanthropic drunken neanderthals taunted, and his smile remained undaunted though he'd long since learned to hide it not flaunt it. (Well ok sometimes he still did, for after all he's still a kid)
With doubt still ringing in my head, I realize now why we aren't dead.
We're still alive.
Thanks for your question, it's a good one.
Now Gimme Five.
|
|
[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
|
I smelled her before I heard her,
"So what happens now?" A girl with a matching pink shirt and skirt asks, her hair matted and frizzy, her lisp bringing me back to lighter days.
Lately, I've found myself very smell sensitive. And at once, it was like I was filled with every smell I've ever carried - one of body odor from a young age, head and shoulders shampoo, bath and body works perfume attempting to cling to weed and cigarette smoke, ex-lovers, and weak attempts at gender-neutral cologne.
By the time my senses had calmed down, the many versions of myself had already clumped into age groups. All of the children below 6 kept each other company, the youngest of me fast asleep as they always were - completely well behaved. They held each other and held their stuffed animals - looking for any comfort in the unfamiliar. A group of four - I'm assuming from 7 to 11, had formed a tight circle and glanced around nervously, whispering and nervously laughing, a habit I picked up around those ages. A few sat against the wall near each other, picking at their fingernails and leg scabs from some of my first self-harm scars. As we went up in age, the groups became smaller and more distinct - the 15 and 16 year old, each a different gender, stood near each other, their eyes glazed over as they held hands and seemed to share a glance of "Are we the only ones high in this room?"
The most puzzling of all of them was the 17 and 18 year old. Each looked equally awkward and uncomfortable in their skin, the long shifts and binging taking a toll on their bodies. However, the 17 year old was wearing an Abercrombie sweater, out of place in a sea of queer children attempting to discover themselves. The 18 year old hugged her tightly, crying, digging her face into the sweater, while the 17-year old looked like they were about to be sick.
The 19 and 20 year old also looked at me, patiently waiting for guidance. I was 21 - I was the oldest of them. I looked for someone older than me, both for leadership and for a sign that I wouldn't kill myself this year. It looked like it was just me.
The oldest of the two smirked, one of them asking, "Have you learned how to make decisions yet?" almost mockingly. I couldn't help but smile - I haven't learned how to make decisions, and that's something I would mock myself with exactly. The 5 year old pulled on me again, beginning to cry, "Are you me? What are we going to do? Where are we?" I felt the 19 year old, living in her own world, touching my hair, "I like your haircut. You look great - when did you lose so much weight?"
Brushing the older girl aside, I leaned down to the younger version of me, imagining all of the things I wanted to say - the hours I've spent writing letters to myself as a younger person, wanting to tell myself it would all be okay, and we'll figure it out. I looked at the wall, "That says 'Who's in Charge?', so we have to figure out who will be in charge. It's gonna be okay, the older kids can figure it out."
In this time, everyone in the room became aware of my presence. Looking the oldest, they all looked at me. All of the teenage versions of myself looked fascinated, and it pained me to know what each one of them thought about me - some admired me, but for the wrong reasons.
I laughed nervously, "So this is kind of funny, right guys? We always wondered what would happen if we were put in a room with each age. Does anyone know what's going on?"
The 14 year old raised her hand, the confidence of 8th grade standing out to those around her age. "I showed up first. The last thing I remember is falling asleep, and I had a dream about a house fire. I ended up here. I tapped around the walls, and they seem to be pretty hollow. I think we can break through. Do you think this is a dream?"
The 17-year old butted in, "You can't just make stupid decisions like that on the fly. This might be real, and we can get into a lot of trouble if we break things. You can never think of fucking consequences!" Her voice cracked, probably startled by the news of her future breakup, and the 18-year old put her hands on the girl's shoulders.
The 14 year old stared for a moment, looking like she wanted to cry. She spoke quieter, "Why would you say that? You know how insecure I am about that."
The 10 year old, worn with the largest burden of family trauma, spoke up, "We should probably just do what it says, right?"
A few of the teenagers began to whisper to each other. The children looked confused and nervous. The babies began to stir from sleep, holding themselves gently.
The 18 year old, looking almost as slim as me, stared at me with such perplexion. "What happens?"
I sighed, feeling overwhelmed, and understanding I wanted answers, "What do you want to know?"
"What happened with her? Did she come back?"
The 20 year old laughed. "Of course she did! And then she left again, and then she came back and left again! Right after your 20th birthday! You can't help but remind her of all the things she can't be, all the parts of her she has to hide away. Of course that's all you care about knowing - you were obsessed with her. Co-de-pen-dent." She mocked.
The 17 year old looked like she was going to throw up.
I sighed, "Yeah, that. But we have forgiven her, we have moved on."
The 19 year old spoke up, "Did she block you again?"
"Of course she did." I said quietly.
The 13 year old raised her hand, "Are you still depressed?"
"Yeah. But I'm on medication. I feel better than you do, that's for sure."
The 10 year old looked like she was about to cry as well, "Did your sister kill herself?"
I smiled, "No, she didn't. She's been on the west coast for a few years for grad school. She's doing great."
The 15 year old rolled his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, the withdrawals beginning to hit him, "Can we get this over with? Please?"
I thought for a second, taking initiative for one of the first times in my life, "Who thinks that I should be in charge?"
Everyone under 11 raised their hands, as well as everyone over 18. The teenagers looked skeptical. The 14 year old, the one who tapped on the walls and plays too many video games, raised her hand again, "I think it's a trap. I've been hearing a man's voice through the walls. I think we should try and break out. We might all be tortured."
"Or do the human centipede", 11 year old me added.
"Oh shut up! You faked cancer, you don't get to speak on any of this!" The 13 year old me whispered, the intense look of middle school scaring the younger ones.
"Fuck this." 14 year old me declared, running up to the wall and shoving her body into it, denting the plaster. All of those ages around her began to do the same, while the younger ones watched in horror, the babies began to cry, and those over 16 were paralyzed with fear, the trauma response kicking in.
The 20 year old came up and stood next to me, nudging us like we were buddies, "We were just too mentally ill then, huh?"
The babies were crawling up to me, the children crowding slightly behind, the tinnitus from my medications becoming overwhelming.
"I probably should've made more peace with my inner children before this situation happened." I sighed, losing all hope of a solution, feeling angry at myself, taking a step away from the 20-year-old, "And you still use people for your personal gain and sex. You're no better."
|
*"Well then. Guess it's me"*
27 years of wisdom and they account for jack shit. Did I really think that would work?
**Did you really think that would work?**
24 year old me took the words right out of my mouth.
*Listen, I'm the oldest one here. Which means I'm the only real one here. The rest of you are all clo-*
~~And? What if we are clones? That makes us any less important?~~
*How old are you anyway?*
~~12 and what's it to you?~~
^I'm ^so ^sorry...
We all look at 14 with pity and regret. Well, those of us 15 and older, that is. The one I assume is 13 is filled with the weight of dread without finality, poor dude. 12 and younger are so blissfully ignorant.
> Listen buddy, you don't have to be a part of this if you don't want. Just sit it out, we won't force you to do anything you don't want to.
^...thanks...
One of me breaks down crying. I'm gonna bet it's 18.
**H...hey. You too. Just sit it out, dude.**
What happens now though?
*Listen, I don't know how old you are, but you're too young to be making reasonable decisions. Same with the rest of you younger than 18. Believe me, we're gonna work together and make sure nothing bad happens. To any of us. Just let me help give you all direction.*
Please just listen to me.
> One good reason why we should listen to you?
Who the fuck are you? 21? 22?
*Why should any of us listen to someone who doesn't kno-*
* Wuh WUUh WuuuUUAA WuAAHHHH
*-know everything that there is t-*
1. Stop it! No! Make the baby stop!
Somebody shut the infant and the toddler up. Please for the love of god.
~~Go on, Mr. "I'm in charge". Shut the kids up, hmmm?~~
Remind me to punt you later.
*Fine. You know what? Fine. I'll take care of the brats in this group, since that's gonna take the most patience any goddamn way. Whoever is 26 is in charge of the rest.*
***^Pushing ^this ^evil ^off ^on ^me, ^huh?***
Just get the job done, while I pat this stupid baby's back. I...I hope this doesn't last long enough that I'm gonna deal with cleaning this brat up...
***^Right, ^I'm ^in ^charge ^now, ^I ^guess.***
> **I'll be doing whatever I want to, thanks and goodbye.**
***^I've ^got ^no ^patience ^for ^this. ^Listen, ^either ^you ^agree ^I'm ^the ^leader, ^or ^we ^kill ^you.***
Hold up. What?
Wuh...What?
> Yo what the fuck?
~~**please...**~~
**Jesus christ!**
Oh boy was that 17 who said that? Poor dude still...
* WWuuuuAAAAHH WAAAHHHH WuuuUUUUUAAAAHHHH
* **Nuuuooooo NuuuuOOOOO!**
FUCK! why are you two so NEEDY???
(YUR NOT GUNNA KILL US RITE??)
*Why are you looking at me I'm not the one who said that?*
***^Listen ^it's ^simple. ^We're ^trapped ^in ^a ^room. ^The ^only ^way ^out ^is ^for ^everyone ^to ^acknowledge ^one ^leader. ^Once ^the ^game ^is ^over, ^we're ^probably ^all ^gonna...***
Please don't say vanish, please don't say vanish, you'll trip the alarm and send the kids running...
***^...be ^released. ^So ^let's ^just ^get ^this ^nonsense ^over ^with. ^We ^can't ^leave ^the ^room ^anyway, ^so ^what ^are ^we ^even ^waiting ^for?***
Thank god you got some mf'ing sense in you, 26.
1. *You really think we'll be let go?*
Did he just give me the side-eye? Oh boy, yeah, he must know that whatever comes next probably ain't pretty. C'mon, I know you're a good liar. Don't break face to a 9 year old.
> I'm pretty sure he's right. Right? I mean it's the only choice we have here.
*Yep yep, right, I agree, let's say 26 is the leader and call it a day. All agreed?*
^...sure...
**Whatever**
> ^OK!
1. If you think so...
23...24...25...and I'm 26. There! 26 people all agreeing that 26 is the leader, who obviously votes for themselves! We're free, right?
*Right! now that 26 is unanimously the leader, the door should open, right?*
It won't open!
h...huh? When did they get over there? No, what did they just say?
***^Maybe ^I ^just ^need ^to ^be ^the ^one ^to ^open ^it. ^Move.***
Oh boy. They're definitely giving that door a good pull, but it ain't budging.
> **Ummmmmm....so the door's not opening and we have a problem.**
* WWuuu
* **Muuhhmuu Drrrrnk**
I suppose now's a good time to contemplate the mental capacity of a 1 and 2 year old to understand the concept of democratic leadership.
*Uh, well, I guess-*
**Oh you guess?**
*Fuck off 24!*
***^Right ^I ^think ^we ^know ^what ^we ^have ^to ^do.***
(NOOOOO!)
> **I mean we have to, right? They can't even speak properly, let alone agree to anyone being a leader.**
* **Mi! Meee! Hell!**
Alright, so the 2 year old can say "me", and either hell or hello. That means they have to understand something, right? Maybe we can twist them? But what about the 1 year old?
*Idea, and hear me out, I know this is stupid. Babies don't recognize anything but themselves, right?*
> *Haha yeah!*
6? 7? Oh whatever, as long as they're on board.
*Let's just all agree, that the 1 year old is in charge. Can you do that, buddy?*
* **Hmm? Hah? Hahhaa?**
**~~just say "baby in charge"~~**
* **Buby n chaghe?**
***^ALRIGHT, ^they ^said ^it! ^all ^in ^agreement?***
Alright, alright...everyone is saying yes...everyone is saying yes!
*Yep. Totally. I agree. And that's 27. Is the door open?*
CREEEAAAAAAKKKKKK
Well, the door opened on its own. That was timely. and creepy. We're all staring at it...maybe I should be the one to walk through first? Just in case?
*Well it was...nice seeing you all. See you...I guess?*
Fresh air, you can't come any sooner. Let me out. It's blinding through the doorway, but hopefully once I get on the other side-
____
Whuh? Where am I?
~~Oh good, they aren't dead.~~
What? Was I passed ou-Wait. Wait no. I walked through that doorway. Why am I back in the room?
***^You ^have ^to ^be ^shitting ^me. ^Why ^am ^I ^back ^in ^this ^room?***
> What do you mean back in the room? You just woke up.
***^No, ^I ^just ^walked ^out ^that ^door...***
> ...No?
How many of you are there...2...4...6...8...
^Are ^you ^ok?
14...16...18...20...
* wuuuhhh Wuhhwaa
24...25...and I make...26? But...but I'm 27...
H...hey. Hey!
This little 5 year old...stop tugging at me, my head is swimming.
***^What?!***
So what happens now?
|
|
[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
|
Our eyes fell on the man in the back corner. He didn't say anything, he didn't even really look at us. There was something deeply *off* about him. The way his fingers drummed against each other, the asymmetric smile, the way his eyes darted around the room, landing on us one at a time.
"Who is he?" Five asked again.
"I don't know. But he's the oldest one here." My stomach twisted as I said that. The man, the version of us, he couldn't be older than early twenties.
"Eighteen, right?" an older version of me asked.
"Hmm? Yeah." I push my fingers together, a gesture not unlike that of the older version of us. In fact, the little smiles, the subtle eye twitches, it was uncanny to see how the various twitches aged over time.
"I'm concerned about that guy," he said. "Twenty One, by the way. I recognize everyone else here but those two-" here he pointed at the unhinged version and another man, who looked similar in age but a lot saner and with a heavy beard. "I think he's the oldest. I think something bad happens. I think..."
He swallowed but he didn't need to finish the sentence. That man, Twenty Three, was up to something.
"Can you talk to him?" Twenty One asked. His fingers tapped together, that same nervous tic, and he swallowed hard. "I just... You've got the confidence, ya know? All about to head to college. That kinda goes away after freshman year."
Not exactly good to hear. "Am I really the bravest here?" I asked. Somehow that managed to bother me, even in the face of needing to stop my eldest self from taking control of the body.
"Well." Twenty One shrugged. "Three is pretty bold but he's also three."
Fair point. "Alright," I said. "I'll talk to him. See what his issue is."
I was halfway over when Twenty Two stopped me.
"Hey, hold up Eighteen," he said, putting a hand on my chest. "I don't think you should talk to him."
I shoved him off, determined not to let anything slow me down. There was only so much courage I could store and it was running out fast.
"Out of my way," I said, trying to keep my voice strong.
"Seriously." His eyebrows furrowed, the left one more than the right. I knew the look. It stared me back in the mirror every time I tried to calm down a panic attack. It was more stable now, less panic and more concern. "There's something wrong with him. He's just looking for a chance to hurt someone."
"We don't have a choice here." It was all I could do to keep my voice strong. Twenty One picked me. "If he gets in charge, he gets control of the body. There's something wrong with him, I agree, but that's *why* we have to stop him. He's also..." I lowered my voice, even though there arguably wasn't anyone who could overhear. "He's also the oldest. Whatever is going on with him-us-either we die at twenty-three or we're about to do something at twenty-three that's bad enough to warrant this." I waved a hand.
Twenty Two took a deep breath and I could tell he wanted to fight my logic. "What good is talking to him going to do, then?" he asked finally.
This question stopped me in my tracks. I looked back over to Twenty Three. I was closer now and could make out more details. Dark, rust-colored dirt under his nails. A wicked scar on his chin.
"I..."
"You read the sign," Twenty Two said. "'By force.' He could do anything. He could take you down, he could hurt one of the little ones, he could..." He rubbed his forehead, eyebrows staying anxious. "I've never even hurt someone. I mean, there was rugby but that was the worst decision of my life."
I sucked my cheeks in at this. Rugby tryouts were in two weeks. "Uh."
"Oh shit. Sorry Eighteen." He gave a nervous laugh. "You struggle with the whole 'hitting people' thing, that's all." Then his eyes fell back on Twenty Three. "I'm not sure what went wrong between me and him."
Our eyes both fell on Twenty Three, who had finally started moving from his corner. My heart skipped a beat. Would I really go from me to someone violently unstable in just a few years? What happened between Twenty Two and Twenty Three?
"If you were to take control now," I ask Twenty Two, "do you think you could stop that? Like, knowing what you were about to become?"
Twenty Two didn't answer at first. His eyes stayed on Twenty Three, who was walking now. The first person he reached, Fourteen, flinched visibly as Twenty Three reached him. Almost before I could stop him, Twenty Two moved, lips pinched in anger.
"Twenty Two!" I hissed, grabbing his shoulder.
"He's going to-"
"I know. I know. I agree." My fingers drummed against my legs so fast I could barely feel them. "I want to help Fourteen but I think that's not the play right now. There's more of us than him but he looks like he could easily cause enough pain to get through us all and assume control. We need diplomacy."
"He can't be reasoned with, Eighteen!" Twenty Two's voice was harsh with anger. Across from us, Fourteen's eyes welled with tears and Twenty Three moved on, this time towards Eight. "He's just going to threaten them, he's just going to-"
"No." I took a steadying breath. "Not ration with him. With each other. We can vote someone, you probably, in control before he gets the chance to threaten or coerce any more of the others."
Twenty Two took a sharp breath at this, as if ready to argue, but slowly his face relaxed. "Oh. Oh. Give me another chance. Give us all another chance to get it right this time."
"We have to try. I'll pledge my vote to you. We only need another ten."
Fortunately, most of us were not terribly hard to convince. We were, after all, the same person. Nine really wanted to assume control. So did Fifteen, who wanted to try freshman year again. But it only took a quick glance at the matted hair of Twenty Three for them to ultimately geton board.
As fun as it would be to get all possible information from the older versions of me and really nail college, it was worth giving control to Twenty Two, just to prevent becoming whatever Twenty Three had become.
"Do you think he's ever killed anyone?" asked Twelve, the last to get on board. We just needed a majority, and Twelve was ready to cast his vote.
"Yes."
I looked in surprise at Twenty Two. "You think?"
"I think. I don't know why, I just..." He sighed. "I interned at the police station between spring and fall semester last summer. I had to see someone who'd killed. I saw a few, actually. There's just something in their eyes. Something in his eyes. When I look at all of you, I see the same tics and twitches and idiosyncracies but in him there's something new. Something foreign."
I looked at Twenty Three, who was making his way over to Five. We'd already gotten him to pledge his vote to Twenty Two, but it wouldn't be hard for the older version to sway poor little Five.
"Alright," Twelve said, picking up on exactly what we had. "Then I pledge my vote to Twenty Two."
"To me?" he confirmed.
Twelve nodded. "I do."
At this, the room immediately filled with a hum, and everyone froze, looking at Twenty Two.
"What did you do?!"
This call came from the eldest of us, Twenty Three. His eyes fell to me, bewildered and enraged.
"Giving us another chance," I said. "Giving us a chance to stop Twenty Three."
The room began to waver before my eyes and a bold smile crossed my face, that confidence that was the envy of my older selfs shining through.
"Don't lose your sense of self," I said to Twenty Two. "That bravery."
"Oh little Eighteen. I wouldn't worry."
Something about Twenty Two's voice gave me pause, and I turned to see a smile on his face, one more similar to the unhinged look on Twenty Three versus the smile the rest of us so often flashed.
"No no noooo." Twenty Three all but moaned the words, burying his head in his hands. "Eighteen, you've doomed us all."
"What are you talking about?" Twenty asked, stomping his foot. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"
"I was trying to tell you all," Twenty Three said. "There's something... not right. In our heads. It haunts me every night. Haunts me in the day. I'm trying to- I've been trying to stop it, seek help, but it scares me." His voice broke as the room began to go dark. "I tried ending it all yesterday and woke up here. I thought I had a chance to go back a few years, urge younger me to get help before it got this bad."
The room hung in an eerie almost-silence. The only sound was the racing of our collective hearts.
"He said you'd killed someone," I said, voice ragged. "He said we had to stop you. He said-"
"Who said this?" the eldest asked. "Him?" He pointed at Twenty Two, who had a small smile on his face, something almost mocking, even in his silence. "Who is he? He's the only one I don't recognize."
My heart skipped at this, a sound that echoed throughout the almost black chamber now. I'd only passed out once, after riding a spinning ride at Wild World when I was twelve. This felt similar to that, except far less fun.
"That's Twenty Two," I said, my voice a choked whisper.
"No," he said, practically whimpering. "That's impossible. I'm Twenty Two. He must be Twenty Th-"
Then the world went black.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
*"Well then. Guess it's me"*
27 years of wisdom and they account for jack shit. Did I really think that would work?
**Did you really think that would work?**
24 year old me took the words right out of my mouth.
*Listen, I'm the oldest one here. Which means I'm the only real one here. The rest of you are all clo-*
~~And? What if we are clones? That makes us any less important?~~
*How old are you anyway?*
~~12 and what's it to you?~~
^I'm ^so ^sorry...
We all look at 14 with pity and regret. Well, those of us 15 and older, that is. The one I assume is 13 is filled with the weight of dread without finality, poor dude. 12 and younger are so blissfully ignorant.
> Listen buddy, you don't have to be a part of this if you don't want. Just sit it out, we won't force you to do anything you don't want to.
^...thanks...
One of me breaks down crying. I'm gonna bet it's 18.
**H...hey. You too. Just sit it out, dude.**
What happens now though?
*Listen, I don't know how old you are, but you're too young to be making reasonable decisions. Same with the rest of you younger than 18. Believe me, we're gonna work together and make sure nothing bad happens. To any of us. Just let me help give you all direction.*
Please just listen to me.
> One good reason why we should listen to you?
Who the fuck are you? 21? 22?
*Why should any of us listen to someone who doesn't kno-*
* Wuh WUUh WuuuUUAA WuAAHHHH
*-know everything that there is t-*
1. Stop it! No! Make the baby stop!
Somebody shut the infant and the toddler up. Please for the love of god.
~~Go on, Mr. "I'm in charge". Shut the kids up, hmmm?~~
Remind me to punt you later.
*Fine. You know what? Fine. I'll take care of the brats in this group, since that's gonna take the most patience any goddamn way. Whoever is 26 is in charge of the rest.*
***^Pushing ^this ^evil ^off ^on ^me, ^huh?***
Just get the job done, while I pat this stupid baby's back. I...I hope this doesn't last long enough that I'm gonna deal with cleaning this brat up...
***^Right, ^I'm ^in ^charge ^now, ^I ^guess.***
> **I'll be doing whatever I want to, thanks and goodbye.**
***^I've ^got ^no ^patience ^for ^this. ^Listen, ^either ^you ^agree ^I'm ^the ^leader, ^or ^we ^kill ^you.***
Hold up. What?
Wuh...What?
> Yo what the fuck?
~~**please...**~~
**Jesus christ!**
Oh boy was that 17 who said that? Poor dude still...
* WWuuuuAAAAHH WAAAHHHH WuuuUUUUUAAAAHHHH
* **Nuuuooooo NuuuuOOOOO!**
FUCK! why are you two so NEEDY???
(YUR NOT GUNNA KILL US RITE??)
*Why are you looking at me I'm not the one who said that?*
***^Listen ^it's ^simple. ^We're ^trapped ^in ^a ^room. ^The ^only ^way ^out ^is ^for ^everyone ^to ^acknowledge ^one ^leader. ^Once ^the ^game ^is ^over, ^we're ^probably ^all ^gonna...***
Please don't say vanish, please don't say vanish, you'll trip the alarm and send the kids running...
***^...be ^released. ^So ^let's ^just ^get ^this ^nonsense ^over ^with. ^We ^can't ^leave ^the ^room ^anyway, ^so ^what ^are ^we ^even ^waiting ^for?***
Thank god you got some mf'ing sense in you, 26.
1. *You really think we'll be let go?*
Did he just give me the side-eye? Oh boy, yeah, he must know that whatever comes next probably ain't pretty. C'mon, I know you're a good liar. Don't break face to a 9 year old.
> I'm pretty sure he's right. Right? I mean it's the only choice we have here.
*Yep yep, right, I agree, let's say 26 is the leader and call it a day. All agreed?*
^...sure...
**Whatever**
> ^OK!
1. If you think so...
23...24...25...and I'm 26. There! 26 people all agreeing that 26 is the leader, who obviously votes for themselves! We're free, right?
*Right! now that 26 is unanimously the leader, the door should open, right?*
It won't open!
h...huh? When did they get over there? No, what did they just say?
***^Maybe ^I ^just ^need ^to ^be ^the ^one ^to ^open ^it. ^Move.***
Oh boy. They're definitely giving that door a good pull, but it ain't budging.
> **Ummmmmm....so the door's not opening and we have a problem.**
* WWuuu
* **Muuhhmuu Drrrrnk**
I suppose now's a good time to contemplate the mental capacity of a 1 and 2 year old to understand the concept of democratic leadership.
*Uh, well, I guess-*
**Oh you guess?**
*Fuck off 24!*
***^Right ^I ^think ^we ^know ^what ^we ^have ^to ^do.***
(NOOOOO!)
> **I mean we have to, right? They can't even speak properly, let alone agree to anyone being a leader.**
* **Mi! Meee! Hell!**
Alright, so the 2 year old can say "me", and either hell or hello. That means they have to understand something, right? Maybe we can twist them? But what about the 1 year old?
*Idea, and hear me out, I know this is stupid. Babies don't recognize anything but themselves, right?*
> *Haha yeah!*
6? 7? Oh whatever, as long as they're on board.
*Let's just all agree, that the 1 year old is in charge. Can you do that, buddy?*
* **Hmm? Hah? Hahhaa?**
**~~just say "baby in charge"~~**
* **Buby n chaghe?**
***^ALRIGHT, ^they ^said ^it! ^all ^in ^agreement?***
Alright, alright...everyone is saying yes...everyone is saying yes!
*Yep. Totally. I agree. And that's 27. Is the door open?*
CREEEAAAAAAKKKKKK
Well, the door opened on its own. That was timely. and creepy. We're all staring at it...maybe I should be the one to walk through first? Just in case?
*Well it was...nice seeing you all. See you...I guess?*
Fresh air, you can't come any sooner. Let me out. It's blinding through the doorway, but hopefully once I get on the other side-
____
Whuh? Where am I?
~~Oh good, they aren't dead.~~
What? Was I passed ou-Wait. Wait no. I walked through that doorway. Why am I back in the room?
***^You ^have ^to ^be ^shitting ^me. ^Why ^am ^I ^back ^in ^this ^room?***
> What do you mean back in the room? You just woke up.
***^No, ^I ^just ^walked ^out ^that ^door...***
> ...No?
How many of you are there...2...4...6...8...
^Are ^you ^ok?
14...16...18...20...
* wuuuhhh Wuhhwaa
24...25...and I make...26? But...but I'm 27...
H...hey. Hey!
This little 5 year old...stop tugging at me, my head is swimming.
***^What?!***
So what happens now?
|
|
[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
|
I smelled her before I heard her,
"So what happens now?" A girl with a matching pink shirt and skirt asks, her hair matted and frizzy, her lisp bringing me back to lighter days.
Lately, I've found myself very smell sensitive. And at once, it was like I was filled with every smell I've ever carried - one of body odor from a young age, head and shoulders shampoo, bath and body works perfume attempting to cling to weed and cigarette smoke, ex-lovers, and weak attempts at gender-neutral cologne.
By the time my senses had calmed down, the many versions of myself had already clumped into age groups. All of the children below 6 kept each other company, the youngest of me fast asleep as they always were - completely well behaved. They held each other and held their stuffed animals - looking for any comfort in the unfamiliar. A group of four - I'm assuming from 7 to 11, had formed a tight circle and glanced around nervously, whispering and nervously laughing, a habit I picked up around those ages. A few sat against the wall near each other, picking at their fingernails and leg scabs from some of my first self-harm scars. As we went up in age, the groups became smaller and more distinct - the 15 and 16 year old, each a different gender, stood near each other, their eyes glazed over as they held hands and seemed to share a glance of "Are we the only ones high in this room?"
The most puzzling of all of them was the 17 and 18 year old. Each looked equally awkward and uncomfortable in their skin, the long shifts and binging taking a toll on their bodies. However, the 17 year old was wearing an Abercrombie sweater, out of place in a sea of queer children attempting to discover themselves. The 18 year old hugged her tightly, crying, digging her face into the sweater, while the 17-year old looked like they were about to be sick.
The 19 and 20 year old also looked at me, patiently waiting for guidance. I was 21 - I was the oldest of them. I looked for someone older than me, both for leadership and for a sign that I wouldn't kill myself this year. It looked like it was just me.
The oldest of the two smirked, one of them asking, "Have you learned how to make decisions yet?" almost mockingly. I couldn't help but smile - I haven't learned how to make decisions, and that's something I would mock myself with exactly. The 5 year old pulled on me again, beginning to cry, "Are you me? What are we going to do? Where are we?" I felt the 19 year old, living in her own world, touching my hair, "I like your haircut. You look great - when did you lose so much weight?"
Brushing the older girl aside, I leaned down to the younger version of me, imagining all of the things I wanted to say - the hours I've spent writing letters to myself as a younger person, wanting to tell myself it would all be okay, and we'll figure it out. I looked at the wall, "That says 'Who's in Charge?', so we have to figure out who will be in charge. It's gonna be okay, the older kids can figure it out."
In this time, everyone in the room became aware of my presence. Looking the oldest, they all looked at me. All of the teenage versions of myself looked fascinated, and it pained me to know what each one of them thought about me - some admired me, but for the wrong reasons.
I laughed nervously, "So this is kind of funny, right guys? We always wondered what would happen if we were put in a room with each age. Does anyone know what's going on?"
The 14 year old raised her hand, the confidence of 8th grade standing out to those around her age. "I showed up first. The last thing I remember is falling asleep, and I had a dream about a house fire. I ended up here. I tapped around the walls, and they seem to be pretty hollow. I think we can break through. Do you think this is a dream?"
The 17-year old butted in, "You can't just make stupid decisions like that on the fly. This might be real, and we can get into a lot of trouble if we break things. You can never think of fucking consequences!" Her voice cracked, probably startled by the news of her future breakup, and the 18-year old put her hands on the girl's shoulders.
The 14 year old stared for a moment, looking like she wanted to cry. She spoke quieter, "Why would you say that? You know how insecure I am about that."
The 10 year old, worn with the largest burden of family trauma, spoke up, "We should probably just do what it says, right?"
A few of the teenagers began to whisper to each other. The children looked confused and nervous. The babies began to stir from sleep, holding themselves gently.
The 18 year old, looking almost as slim as me, stared at me with such perplexion. "What happens?"
I sighed, feeling overwhelmed, and understanding I wanted answers, "What do you want to know?"
"What happened with her? Did she come back?"
The 20 year old laughed. "Of course she did! And then she left again, and then she came back and left again! Right after your 20th birthday! You can't help but remind her of all the things she can't be, all the parts of her she has to hide away. Of course that's all you care about knowing - you were obsessed with her. Co-de-pen-dent." She mocked.
The 17 year old looked like she was going to throw up.
I sighed, "Yeah, that. But we have forgiven her, we have moved on."
The 19 year old spoke up, "Did she block you again?"
"Of course she did." I said quietly.
The 13 year old raised her hand, "Are you still depressed?"
"Yeah. But I'm on medication. I feel better than you do, that's for sure."
The 10 year old looked like she was about to cry as well, "Did your sister kill herself?"
I smiled, "No, she didn't. She's been on the west coast for a few years for grad school. She's doing great."
The 15 year old rolled his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, the withdrawals beginning to hit him, "Can we get this over with? Please?"
I thought for a second, taking initiative for one of the first times in my life, "Who thinks that I should be in charge?"
Everyone under 11 raised their hands, as well as everyone over 18. The teenagers looked skeptical. The 14 year old, the one who tapped on the walls and plays too many video games, raised her hand again, "I think it's a trap. I've been hearing a man's voice through the walls. I think we should try and break out. We might all be tortured."
"Or do the human centipede", 11 year old me added.
"Oh shut up! You faked cancer, you don't get to speak on any of this!" The 13 year old me whispered, the intense look of middle school scaring the younger ones.
"Fuck this." 14 year old me declared, running up to the wall and shoving her body into it, denting the plaster. All of those ages around her began to do the same, while the younger ones watched in horror, the babies began to cry, and those over 16 were paralyzed with fear, the trauma response kicking in.
The 20 year old came up and stood next to me, nudging us like we were buddies, "We were just too mentally ill then, huh?"
The babies were crawling up to me, the children crowding slightly behind, the tinnitus from my medications becoming overwhelming.
"I probably should've made more peace with my inner children before this situation happened." I sighed, losing all hope of a solution, feeling angry at myself, taking a step away from the 20-year-old, "And you still use people for your personal gain and sex. You're no better."
|
"Now we talk," I say to five-year-old me. "Do you remember being here when you were four?"
He nods, and looks over at the far end of the room, where fourteen-year-old me is preventing four-year-old me from poking three-year-old me.
"Yep," I nod, following his gaze. "That little fellah is you, one year ago. Now, that means that you're old enough to remember what we do here. And *that* is going to make all the difference."
"Dif'rence?" asks five-year-old me.
"Why, yes! There's one of me here from *every* year. Some of the later usses will be along shortly to tell you the things that you need to know before next year, and every birthday, you will be back."
My younger self thinks about this earnestly for a while. Then he asks, "How many of me are there?"
"Up until we die, son." I sigh, knowing full well that I am past the halfway mark. "Up until we die, ridiculously wealthy and well-connected. But... you don't take it with you..."
|
|
[WP] You find yourself in a room of "you"s at every age from 1 to now. On the wall it says "Who's in Charge? To end the game, all must agree, by either force or diplomacy." You all turn to face each other. 5 year old you pulls at your shirt, "So what happens now?"
|
Our eyes fell on the man in the back corner. He didn't say anything, he didn't even really look at us. There was something deeply *off* about him. The way his fingers drummed against each other, the asymmetric smile, the way his eyes darted around the room, landing on us one at a time.
"Who is he?" Five asked again.
"I don't know. But he's the oldest one here." My stomach twisted as I said that. The man, the version of us, he couldn't be older than early twenties.
"Eighteen, right?" an older version of me asked.
"Hmm? Yeah." I push my fingers together, a gesture not unlike that of the older version of us. In fact, the little smiles, the subtle eye twitches, it was uncanny to see how the various twitches aged over time.
"I'm concerned about that guy," he said. "Twenty One, by the way. I recognize everyone else here but those two-" here he pointed at the unhinged version and another man, who looked similar in age but a lot saner and with a heavy beard. "I think he's the oldest. I think something bad happens. I think..."
He swallowed but he didn't need to finish the sentence. That man, Twenty Three, was up to something.
"Can you talk to him?" Twenty One asked. His fingers tapped together, that same nervous tic, and he swallowed hard. "I just... You've got the confidence, ya know? All about to head to college. That kinda goes away after freshman year."
Not exactly good to hear. "Am I really the bravest here?" I asked. Somehow that managed to bother me, even in the face of needing to stop my eldest self from taking control of the body.
"Well." Twenty One shrugged. "Three is pretty bold but he's also three."
Fair point. "Alright," I said. "I'll talk to him. See what his issue is."
I was halfway over when Twenty Two stopped me.
"Hey, hold up Eighteen," he said, putting a hand on my chest. "I don't think you should talk to him."
I shoved him off, determined not to let anything slow me down. There was only so much courage I could store and it was running out fast.
"Out of my way," I said, trying to keep my voice strong.
"Seriously." His eyebrows furrowed, the left one more than the right. I knew the look. It stared me back in the mirror every time I tried to calm down a panic attack. It was more stable now, less panic and more concern. "There's something wrong with him. He's just looking for a chance to hurt someone."
"We don't have a choice here." It was all I could do to keep my voice strong. Twenty One picked me. "If he gets in charge, he gets control of the body. There's something wrong with him, I agree, but that's *why* we have to stop him. He's also..." I lowered my voice, even though there arguably wasn't anyone who could overhear. "He's also the oldest. Whatever is going on with him-us-either we die at twenty-three or we're about to do something at twenty-three that's bad enough to warrant this." I waved a hand.
Twenty Two took a deep breath and I could tell he wanted to fight my logic. "What good is talking to him going to do, then?" he asked finally.
This question stopped me in my tracks. I looked back over to Twenty Three. I was closer now and could make out more details. Dark, rust-colored dirt under his nails. A wicked scar on his chin.
"I..."
"You read the sign," Twenty Two said. "'By force.' He could do anything. He could take you down, he could hurt one of the little ones, he could..." He rubbed his forehead, eyebrows staying anxious. "I've never even hurt someone. I mean, there was rugby but that was the worst decision of my life."
I sucked my cheeks in at this. Rugby tryouts were in two weeks. "Uh."
"Oh shit. Sorry Eighteen." He gave a nervous laugh. "You struggle with the whole 'hitting people' thing, that's all." Then his eyes fell back on Twenty Three. "I'm not sure what went wrong between me and him."
Our eyes both fell on Twenty Three, who had finally started moving from his corner. My heart skipped a beat. Would I really go from me to someone violently unstable in just a few years? What happened between Twenty Two and Twenty Three?
"If you were to take control now," I ask Twenty Two, "do you think you could stop that? Like, knowing what you were about to become?"
Twenty Two didn't answer at first. His eyes stayed on Twenty Three, who was walking now. The first person he reached, Fourteen, flinched visibly as Twenty Three reached him. Almost before I could stop him, Twenty Two moved, lips pinched in anger.
"Twenty Two!" I hissed, grabbing his shoulder.
"He's going to-"
"I know. I know. I agree." My fingers drummed against my legs so fast I could barely feel them. "I want to help Fourteen but I think that's not the play right now. There's more of us than him but he looks like he could easily cause enough pain to get through us all and assume control. We need diplomacy."
"He can't be reasoned with, Eighteen!" Twenty Two's voice was harsh with anger. Across from us, Fourteen's eyes welled with tears and Twenty Three moved on, this time towards Eight. "He's just going to threaten them, he's just going to-"
"No." I took a steadying breath. "Not ration with him. With each other. We can vote someone, you probably, in control before he gets the chance to threaten or coerce any more of the others."
Twenty Two took a sharp breath at this, as if ready to argue, but slowly his face relaxed. "Oh. Oh. Give me another chance. Give us all another chance to get it right this time."
"We have to try. I'll pledge my vote to you. We only need another ten."
Fortunately, most of us were not terribly hard to convince. We were, after all, the same person. Nine really wanted to assume control. So did Fifteen, who wanted to try freshman year again. But it only took a quick glance at the matted hair of Twenty Three for them to ultimately geton board.
As fun as it would be to get all possible information from the older versions of me and really nail college, it was worth giving control to Twenty Two, just to prevent becoming whatever Twenty Three had become.
"Do you think he's ever killed anyone?" asked Twelve, the last to get on board. We just needed a majority, and Twelve was ready to cast his vote.
"Yes."
I looked in surprise at Twenty Two. "You think?"
"I think. I don't know why, I just..." He sighed. "I interned at the police station between spring and fall semester last summer. I had to see someone who'd killed. I saw a few, actually. There's just something in their eyes. Something in his eyes. When I look at all of you, I see the same tics and twitches and idiosyncracies but in him there's something new. Something foreign."
I looked at Twenty Three, who was making his way over to Five. We'd already gotten him to pledge his vote to Twenty Two, but it wouldn't be hard for the older version to sway poor little Five.
"Alright," Twelve said, picking up on exactly what we had. "Then I pledge my vote to Twenty Two."
"To me?" he confirmed.
Twelve nodded. "I do."
At this, the room immediately filled with a hum, and everyone froze, looking at Twenty Two.
"What did you do?!"
This call came from the eldest of us, Twenty Three. His eyes fell to me, bewildered and enraged.
"Giving us another chance," I said. "Giving us a chance to stop Twenty Three."
The room began to waver before my eyes and a bold smile crossed my face, that confidence that was the envy of my older selfs shining through.
"Don't lose your sense of self," I said to Twenty Two. "That bravery."
"Oh little Eighteen. I wouldn't worry."
Something about Twenty Two's voice gave me pause, and I turned to see a smile on his face, one more similar to the unhinged look on Twenty Three versus the smile the rest of us so often flashed.
"No no noooo." Twenty Three all but moaned the words, burying his head in his hands. "Eighteen, you've doomed us all."
"What are you talking about?" Twenty asked, stomping his foot. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"
"I was trying to tell you all," Twenty Three said. "There's something... not right. In our heads. It haunts me every night. Haunts me in the day. I'm trying to- I've been trying to stop it, seek help, but it scares me." His voice broke as the room began to go dark. "I tried ending it all yesterday and woke up here. I thought I had a chance to go back a few years, urge younger me to get help before it got this bad."
The room hung in an eerie almost-silence. The only sound was the racing of our collective hearts.
"He said you'd killed someone," I said, voice ragged. "He said we had to stop you. He said-"
"Who said this?" the eldest asked. "Him?" He pointed at Twenty Two, who had a small smile on his face, something almost mocking, even in his silence. "Who is he? He's the only one I don't recognize."
My heart skipped at this, a sound that echoed throughout the almost black chamber now. I'd only passed out once, after riding a spinning ride at Wild World when I was twelve. This felt similar to that, except far less fun.
"That's Twenty Two," I said, my voice a choked whisper.
"No," he said, practically whimpering. "That's impossible. I'm Twenty Two. He must be Twenty Th-"
Then the world went black.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
"Now we talk," I say to five-year-old me. "Do you remember being here when you were four?"
He nods, and looks over at the far end of the room, where fourteen-year-old me is preventing four-year-old me from poking three-year-old me.
"Yep," I nod, following his gaze. "That little fellah is you, one year ago. Now, that means that you're old enough to remember what we do here. And *that* is going to make all the difference."
"Dif'rence?" asks five-year-old me.
"Why, yes! There's one of me here from *every* year. Some of the later usses will be along shortly to tell you the things that you need to know before next year, and every birthday, you will be back."
My younger self thinks about this earnestly for a while. Then he asks, "How many of me are there?"
"Up until we die, son." I sigh, knowing full well that I am past the halfway mark. "Up until we die, ridiculously wealthy and well-connected. But... you don't take it with you..."
|
|
Origional idea from a post by [u/Raghav\_Verma](https://www.reddit.com/user/Raghav_Verma/)
origional post to give credit (not necissary reading for the prompt): [https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time\_freezes\_when\_youre\_awake\_and\_flows\_only\_when/](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time_freezes_when_youre_awake_and_flows_only_when/)
|
[WP] Time freezes when you're awake, and flows only when you are asleep.
|
His tombstone was the fifth from the right, all the way back in the twenty-sixth row. "Here lies Frederic Rolland," was his mailing address. Somewhere in rural Kansas, there was a sign that told highway travelers to drive carefully in his memory. His family had given him a proper funeral and occasionally dropped by with flowers.
But Frederic Rolland was not dead. However, by all human measures, he was undeniably a ghost.
"What a lovely morning," he told himself, climbing the ladder out of his grave.
And it was a lovely morning. Any painter would have been jealous of Frederic's view of the horizon, with the sun plastered against the sky's blue dome in a cacophony of colors, unmoving and unwavering in its beauty. It wouldn't move for as long as he was awake, and based on his sleep schedule, he would likely see it frozen in descent next time.
A few headstones to his left, a woman was squatted by the epitaph of her late husband, a single, crystallized tear on her cheek sparkling in the morning sun. He walked closer until he could see her agonized features in high definition. Each mournful wrinkle of her skin told of the depth of her lost love. His own eyes glimmering with tears, Frederic knelt beside the woman -- as still as a statue -- and gave her a hug.
"I'm so sorry."
She wouldn't know anyone had been there. She wouldn't know that her pain was seen by someone other than her husband's soulless body, six feet under. But when time resumed for her, there would be a slight tingling in her shoulder and a small compression in her chest. It would be the echo of the final hug she had shared with her partner. And Frederic's words would never be heard, but the woman would feel the remnants of a whisper in her ear. The last "I love you" she had heard from the deceased.
Wiping his face dry with the back of his hand, Frederic stood back up and returned to his grave. There, he lowered the trapdoor over his small little cove below the headstone, where he slept. Although time stopped for everyone but him during his waking hours, Frederic still closed the door over his hidden home before he went to town out of habit. Back from when he was more than an apparition.
When this curse had first been thrust on him, Frederic had thought that he could live anywhere. With time stopped, the tenets of that hillside mansion would never notice him using one of the many spare bedrooms. That idea had been immediately put to rest when Frederic woke up suddenly to find an angry face hovering over him, with the frozen person's foot embedded painfully in his stomach. Of course, kicking him awake had stopped time, so Frederic didn't get in trouble, but he had booked it out of there regardless. He decided on the graveyard as his permanent home because that was the only place on Earth where people were expected to sleep all day. Considering Frederic was always snoozing when the world turned round, it was the only safe option. A couple months of learning, planning, and digging later, and Frederic had a claustrophobic hobbit hole instead of a tomb. Regardless of the size, he called it home.
"What shall I do today?"
Nobody had talked to him in over five years. His voice was a relic of the past that could be discarded. But, just like how he closed the door to his house before he left, Frederic continued to talk out of habit. It was one of the few things that reminded him he was alive.
Frederic's first stop in town was the deli. Politely opening the door and savoring how the tiny bell rang to announce his arrival like a real, corporeal person, he looked around for a sandwich that looked good. He eventually settled on a turkey and cheese combination.
"I'm going to eat in the park today," he told the fifteen customers and the two uniformed employees. None of them seemed interested in his choice.
It was about a fifteen minute walk to the park. He could have stolen a bicycle, but that would severely injure the person riding it when time resumed. Better to enjoy the perpetual dawn at a lazy stroll.
"If I could save time in a bottle..." he hummed under his breath. About a year ago, he had listened to Jim Croce at the record store and heard the song that encapsulated his existence: "Time in a bottle." Frederic definitely felt bottled up. He was like time's little pet; sometimes ignored, sometimes played with.
"Oh no," he said, his reverie broken by a horrible scene.
On the road by the park, two cars were smashed together, mid-collision. Through the halfway shattered glass, he saw whiplash summed up in a single image. People's bodies contused in horrible positions, the devastating crash only nanoseconds away from inflicting their irreparable damage, made Frederic's stomach swim uncomfortably. The people were moments from death, yet their faces registered nothing. It had happened so fast, that there wasn't even time for shock.
There was only one thing to do. Frederic lugged the people out of the vehicle and set them gently on the meadow grass in the park. That was the easy part. The hard part was literally dragging emergency service members from the hospital several blocks away to the scene of the crash. Even though he had taken the victims out of the vehicles, they would still experience the whiplash. On second thought, he ransacked a nearby house for mattresses to lay the victims on, so their sudden jerks wouldn't be so impactful.
The hardest part took the rest of his day. His day, of course, being the same time of dawn as when he woke up for all his waking hours.
"Come on," he grunted, pushing the bumper of the second car with all his might. Through the combination of heavy machinery, slopes, and furious strength, Frederic had managed to move the crashing vehicles into a secluded ditch where they couldn't hurt anyone on the road. Finally, the car gave way and rolled down into the dirt.
After relaxing in a hot tub, eating from a fancy restaurant, and grabbing some more candles for his home (as he didn't have electricity), he considered his day. In the span of eight hours, he had saved quite a few lives and treated himself to some fine food. It was a day well spent.
Knowing by his mental and physical exhaustion, rather than the nighttime cue that most people rely on, that it was time to sleep, Frederic walked home. On his way back, he saw a gorgeous woman frozen mid-strut, and he briefly considered kissing her. But he quickly shook the thought away. He had been raised better than that. Instead, he satisfied his longing for human contact by holding the hand of a lonely person sitting at the street corner. Being a ghost, he could only offer the ghost of a smile. The ghost of a hug. But it would have to do.
When he arrived back home and collapsed onto his bed, which took up most of his space, Frederic wrote for thirty minutes in his journal that spanned almost five years of utter solitude. Complete loneliness in a crowded world.
"You will never live, laugh, or love again," the thing that had cursed him said.
Maybe he never would, but Frederic could do his part to make sure others would. Like those people that would have died in the car crash without his intervention. Now they could live, laugh, and love. Though he himself was cursed, Frederic could make sure others were blessed because of it. It was all he could do.
Sleep overcame him, the gears of time churned back into motion, and all the ghosts slumbered in their graves.
|
It all started so innocently, I just wanted more time... More time to write my paper, more time to read my books, more time to stare into space and dream...
Little did I know that discovering how to create more time would be so lonely, as all things, it started out great.
I found a way to pause those around me, I still don't understand how I did it that first time or how I figured I could control it from that time forward.
It was simple things, I would pause time and read my books and escape the chaos of the family. Then I would write memoirs like I always wanted. I would take the time to explore the woods and the forest and see the trees...
Little did I realize that I was slowly sleeping more and losing time while gaining time alone - it was so gradual, a missed appointment here, a late start there, a missing day at the office.
Rachel would express her concerns and I'd brush it off. When I lost my job, it didn't matter, I could walk into a bank and walk out with money and the world was oblivious. When I'd miss some intimacy I would take it (though I don't want to think to hard on what I did there...:()
By the time I started to get lonely it was too late, now I'm only awake while everyone is asleep. They leave me connected in the hospital, waiting till I awake - but they don't know that I'm always awake...
.........
I leave messages on the white board, Rachel is scared, she sees things move but I remain in bed...
There here to take me away... Locked away in my own reality... I lost it all, for a little freedom... My time gone
|
Origional idea from a post by [u/Raghav\_Verma](https://www.reddit.com/user/Raghav_Verma/)
origional post to give credit (not necissary reading for the prompt): [https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time\_freezes\_when\_youre\_awake\_and\_flows\_only\_when/](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time_freezes_when_youre_awake_and_flows_only_when/)
|
[WP] Time freezes when you're awake, and flows only when you are asleep.
|
His tombstone was the fifth from the right, all the way back in the twenty-sixth row. "Here lies Frederic Rolland," was his mailing address. Somewhere in rural Kansas, there was a sign that told highway travelers to drive carefully in his memory. His family had given him a proper funeral and occasionally dropped by with flowers.
But Frederic Rolland was not dead. However, by all human measures, he was undeniably a ghost.
"What a lovely morning," he told himself, climbing the ladder out of his grave.
And it was a lovely morning. Any painter would have been jealous of Frederic's view of the horizon, with the sun plastered against the sky's blue dome in a cacophony of colors, unmoving and unwavering in its beauty. It wouldn't move for as long as he was awake, and based on his sleep schedule, he would likely see it frozen in descent next time.
A few headstones to his left, a woman was squatted by the epitaph of her late husband, a single, crystallized tear on her cheek sparkling in the morning sun. He walked closer until he could see her agonized features in high definition. Each mournful wrinkle of her skin told of the depth of her lost love. His own eyes glimmering with tears, Frederic knelt beside the woman -- as still as a statue -- and gave her a hug.
"I'm so sorry."
She wouldn't know anyone had been there. She wouldn't know that her pain was seen by someone other than her husband's soulless body, six feet under. But when time resumed for her, there would be a slight tingling in her shoulder and a small compression in her chest. It would be the echo of the final hug she had shared with her partner. And Frederic's words would never be heard, but the woman would feel the remnants of a whisper in her ear. The last "I love you" she had heard from the deceased.
Wiping his face dry with the back of his hand, Frederic stood back up and returned to his grave. There, he lowered the trapdoor over his small little cove below the headstone, where he slept. Although time stopped for everyone but him during his waking hours, Frederic still closed the door over his hidden home before he went to town out of habit. Back from when he was more than an apparition.
When this curse had first been thrust on him, Frederic had thought that he could live anywhere. With time stopped, the tenets of that hillside mansion would never notice him using one of the many spare bedrooms. That idea had been immediately put to rest when Frederic woke up suddenly to find an angry face hovering over him, with the frozen person's foot embedded painfully in his stomach. Of course, kicking him awake had stopped time, so Frederic didn't get in trouble, but he had booked it out of there regardless. He decided on the graveyard as his permanent home because that was the only place on Earth where people were expected to sleep all day. Considering Frederic was always snoozing when the world turned round, it was the only safe option. A couple months of learning, planning, and digging later, and Frederic had a claustrophobic hobbit hole instead of a tomb. Regardless of the size, he called it home.
"What shall I do today?"
Nobody had talked to him in over five years. His voice was a relic of the past that could be discarded. But, just like how he closed the door to his house before he left, Frederic continued to talk out of habit. It was one of the few things that reminded him he was alive.
Frederic's first stop in town was the deli. Politely opening the door and savoring how the tiny bell rang to announce his arrival like a real, corporeal person, he looked around for a sandwich that looked good. He eventually settled on a turkey and cheese combination.
"I'm going to eat in the park today," he told the fifteen customers and the two uniformed employees. None of them seemed interested in his choice.
It was about a fifteen minute walk to the park. He could have stolen a bicycle, but that would severely injure the person riding it when time resumed. Better to enjoy the perpetual dawn at a lazy stroll.
"If I could save time in a bottle..." he hummed under his breath. About a year ago, he had listened to Jim Croce at the record store and heard the song that encapsulated his existence: "Time in a bottle." Frederic definitely felt bottled up. He was like time's little pet; sometimes ignored, sometimes played with.
"Oh no," he said, his reverie broken by a horrible scene.
On the road by the park, two cars were smashed together, mid-collision. Through the halfway shattered glass, he saw whiplash summed up in a single image. People's bodies contused in horrible positions, the devastating crash only nanoseconds away from inflicting their irreparable damage, made Frederic's stomach swim uncomfortably. The people were moments from death, yet their faces registered nothing. It had happened so fast, that there wasn't even time for shock.
There was only one thing to do. Frederic lugged the people out of the vehicle and set them gently on the meadow grass in the park. That was the easy part. The hard part was literally dragging emergency service members from the hospital several blocks away to the scene of the crash. Even though he had taken the victims out of the vehicles, they would still experience the whiplash. On second thought, he ransacked a nearby house for mattresses to lay the victims on, so their sudden jerks wouldn't be so impactful.
The hardest part took the rest of his day. His day, of course, being the same time of dawn as when he woke up for all his waking hours.
"Come on," he grunted, pushing the bumper of the second car with all his might. Through the combination of heavy machinery, slopes, and furious strength, Frederic had managed to move the crashing vehicles into a secluded ditch where they couldn't hurt anyone on the road. Finally, the car gave way and rolled down into the dirt.
After relaxing in a hot tub, eating from a fancy restaurant, and grabbing some more candles for his home (as he didn't have electricity), he considered his day. In the span of eight hours, he had saved quite a few lives and treated himself to some fine food. It was a day well spent.
Knowing by his mental and physical exhaustion, rather than the nighttime cue that most people rely on, that it was time to sleep, Frederic walked home. On his way back, he saw a gorgeous woman frozen mid-strut, and he briefly considered kissing her. But he quickly shook the thought away. He had been raised better than that. Instead, he satisfied his longing for human contact by holding the hand of a lonely person sitting at the street corner. Being a ghost, he could only offer the ghost of a smile. The ghost of a hug. But it would have to do.
When he arrived back home and collapsed onto his bed, which took up most of his space, Frederic wrote for thirty minutes in his journal that spanned almost five years of utter solitude. Complete loneliness in a crowded world.
"You will never live, laugh, or love again," the thing that had cursed him said.
Maybe he never would, but Frederic could do his part to make sure others would. Like those people that would have died in the car crash without his intervention. Now they could live, laugh, and love. Though he himself was cursed, Frederic could make sure others were blessed because of it. It was all he could do.
Sleep overcame him, the gears of time churned back into motion, and all the ghosts slumbered in their graves.
|
You fight.
A whole crowd of people is smothering you, weighing you down.
You fight, reaching desperately for that last pinprick of light between the crush of bodies. The last of that blue, open sky.
And when it is gone, you surrender to the oblivion. Inevitable, infinite darkness.
Is it right to exchange one person's life for many? How about one person's life for the whole world? It's the trolley problem, but multiplied by whole continents of people on one side, and one single person on the other. Would you pull that lever, condemn that life? Would you destroy the life of the person you know best, love wholly and unconditionally to save people you have never even met?
I did. It has haunted me ever since.
I see you tense, fighting for the right to wake. And I watch your body subside, sliding deeper into the medically induced coma. Part of me wants to rip out all of the equipment tethering you to sleep. The part which is selfish, savage, stupid. Stupid with the overwhelming love I hold for you. It sloshes in my veins. My hands, clasped in my lap, whiten as I squeeze them together. The ring cuts painfully into my finger as I do so. It's less than I deserve.
I master myself, shove it all down. It's been like this ever since they hunted you down and tranquillised you. I still remember your eyes going wide, the slight hitch in your breath. The shock. Muscles relaxing without your consent. Your crawling attempts to reach me before sleep took you over entirely.
Just before that, you had told me that you loved me. You had gotten on your knees and proposed. You couldn't understand that the tears were not just a surge of love for you, though it was. It was tangled up with grief and loss and pain. I was betraying your trust, using the temporary gift you had bestowed upon me, given in love and trust, against you. I was the one who had plotted against you whilst you were asleep, who had unfrozen the people who would take you down. I got to my knees too, hugged you tightly.
Shielded you for one selfish moment more.
And then I let go.
I let them take you.
|
Origional idea from a post by [u/Raghav\_Verma](https://www.reddit.com/user/Raghav_Verma/)
origional post to give credit (not necissary reading for the prompt): [https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time\_freezes\_when\_youre\_awake\_and\_flows\_only\_when/](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time_freezes_when_youre_awake_and_flows_only_when/)
|
[WP] Time freezes when you're awake, and flows only when you are asleep.
|
It was only in dreams that his world was in motion. People walked and talked and drove down streets. Clouds wandered across the sky. The sun rose and set. Waves crashed against shores. One irrational scene grew out of another in a chain of constant transformation.
He stood in a busy grocery store, searching in vain for something he needed. Suddenly he was accosted by his father, who quickly turned into Dr Blank, then into a dog, then into a fish. Now he was underwater, while the fish tried to explain what he needed to do to re-enter the flow of time. But the fish's words were jumbled. He didn't understand. He was drowning at the bottom of the sea and he didn't understand. Then the fish spoke with Dr Blank's voice, and said: "The stillness is eternal. The silence is forever. You'll never find time again."
Tanner Holt awoke with a gasp.
He stared at the dark ceiling and listened to his heartbeat, then to the silence. He sat up and peeled the wired stickers from his skull, his chest, pulled the IV from his arm. The cables and tubes stayed suspended in the air. He examined the vitals monitor, whose display was as motionless as a photograph. The zig-zagging pattern showed that his heart rate had quickened just before he awoke. But now the monitor was paused.
Just like everything else.
Tanner walked to the window, threw the curtain open. The sunlight stayed frozen in a line, exactly where it had struck the curtains before he opened them; the room stayed dark. The leaves of the distant trees did not flutter in the wind. A hummingbird hung motionlessly in the air.
Tanner strode to the table where the pen and paper sat. He picked up the pen and squinted down at the page. He had written the same note every day for the past six weeks. He wrote it again today.
"BRING ME BACK!"
\- - -
It had been two months since Tanner sat across the table from Dr Blank in what looked like an interrogation room. He was nearing the end of the recruitment process. He had passed the physical and mental health examinations. He had passed the various stress tests. He had demonstrated sufficient cognitive abilities. He had been poked and prodded and asked a battery of questions. All so he could participate in the clandestine experiment.
Only now was the lead scientist telling him what the experiment would entail. Only now was he allowed to ask questions of his own.
"Could it kill me?"
"It's not a question of fatality," Dr Blank responded.
"Then what?"
"The most likely scenario is that it does nothing at all," Dr Blank said. "The tests on animals have been failures."
"Failures? Did they come out injured?"
Dr Blank laughed. "Not at all. The animals did not come out any different, because they never truly went in. They serum does not affect them. It must be a human. That has been my hypothesis from the beginning. Only humans have the requisite mental faculties for this kind of temporal reorganization."
"And what if it does kill me?"
"It won't," said the scientist.
"But what if?"
"On top of the 500,000 dollars you will receive for participating, your life is insured for another three million. In the incredibly unlikely event that you perish from the experiment, your next of kin will receive 3.5 million dollars, as well as formal condolences from the United States Government."
Tanner scoffed. The scientist shrugged. "Many take greater risks for less."
"And what if I can't come back?" Tanner asked. "What if I don't die, but stay stuck in time? Out of time. Whatever."
"Then you'll have many free hours to regret signing this contract," said Dr Blank, patting the piece of paper that lay on the table. "But as it stands now, your time is running out. You must make your decision, Mr Holt. There is a long line of willing participants waiting behind you, clamouring for this opportunity."
Tanner bit his lip and stared at the paper, covered in legalese and fine print. Half a million dollars for two weeks worth of work. "Fine," he finally said, picking up the pen.
\- - -
**Part 2:**
**https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o0vj7p/out\_of\_time\_part\_2/**
|
You fight.
A whole crowd of people is smothering you, weighing you down.
You fight, reaching desperately for that last pinprick of light between the crush of bodies. The last of that blue, open sky.
And when it is gone, you surrender to the oblivion. Inevitable, infinite darkness.
Is it right to exchange one person's life for many? How about one person's life for the whole world? It's the trolley problem, but multiplied by whole continents of people on one side, and one single person on the other. Would you pull that lever, condemn that life? Would you destroy the life of the person you know best, love wholly and unconditionally to save people you have never even met?
I did. It has haunted me ever since.
I see you tense, fighting for the right to wake. And I watch your body subside, sliding deeper into the medically induced coma. Part of me wants to rip out all of the equipment tethering you to sleep. The part which is selfish, savage, stupid. Stupid with the overwhelming love I hold for you. It sloshes in my veins. My hands, clasped in my lap, whiten as I squeeze them together. The ring cuts painfully into my finger as I do so. It's less than I deserve.
I master myself, shove it all down. It's been like this ever since they hunted you down and tranquillised you. I still remember your eyes going wide, the slight hitch in your breath. The shock. Muscles relaxing without your consent. Your crawling attempts to reach me before sleep took you over entirely.
Just before that, you had told me that you loved me. You had gotten on your knees and proposed. You couldn't understand that the tears were not just a surge of love for you, though it was. It was tangled up with grief and loss and pain. I was betraying your trust, using the temporary gift you had bestowed upon me, given in love and trust, against you. I was the one who had plotted against you whilst you were asleep, who had unfrozen the people who would take you down. I got to my knees too, hugged you tightly.
Shielded you for one selfish moment more.
And then I let go.
I let them take you.
|
[WP] The Uncanny Valley is not a byproduct of human psychological processes. It is an evolutionary trait. There was a time when our ancestors met creatures that looked almost human. And it was best to stay away from them.
|
I was sitting in a bar. The bartender kept asking me every two minutes if I wanted a drink and kept getting more and more suspicious of me every time I declined. I kept saying I was fine until I relented and ordered a glass of water to get him off my back. Bastard wouldn’t leave me alone for some reason. The bar was mostly crowded but I had my sight on only one person.
He had a middle tooth.
Normally if you saw something like that, it would be a little strange and maybe weird you out a little but you would eventually just forget it and move on with your day. But this guy’s whole damn set of teeth were misplaced a little too much at the right. They always have trouble getting the teeth right.
But that wasn’t the only thing. His left eye socket was higher than the other, and the difference in the size of his right eye. Granted they were all very small details you would have to really look at to notice, but it was there with no doubt. It’s how I knew it was him.
I walked past the guy about an hour ago while crossing the street. I took one look at him and felt it. The unease that lingered around this man. Call it a sixth sense or whatever you want, but I was more observant of everyone’s facial features since I was a kid.
He was drinking alone minding his own business, a couple women would approach him from time to time and try to flirt with him, but the longer they all talked with him they would *really* begin to notice how off he was and would try to leave. I overheard the conversations and he seemed charismatic while talking but that was about it.
He finally stopped drinking his beer and left some cash on the counter, he managed to walk through the crowd and slip away without anyone really noticing him. I did the same and followed him indiscreetly. I stepped outside and looked where he went.
I barely saw him in time as he was down the street and quickly ducked into an alleyway. It was a trap, that much was obvious. I walked down several blocks the other way to get to the other side of the alleyway.
It paid off when I finally made it to the far entrance and peeked around the wall to see him hiding behind a dumpster waiting for me. I reached for something in my coat and pulled out a silencer attachment, then next for my sidearm I was concealing. I tried to swiftly put on the attachment and not bring any attention to myself.
He was beginning to think I wasn’t coming as I never arrived from the far side and was about to walk away. I was behind him, the noise of me pulling back the slide alerted him. He quickly turned around and was face to face with the barrel of my gun.
“So what gave me away this time, Marshal?” He said with an oddly calm voice. His face moving as he spoke gave me chills down my back.
“It was your teeth. You have a middle tooth. Who are you?” I asked. I needed to know who the person standing in front of me was. They were in the city now I lived and I would like to change that.
“Wouldn’t you like to know. It’s very impolite to be stalking people too, you know.. Traitor…” The man said with slight distain in his voice that was quickly replaced with giggling that slowly became unsettling laughter. I shot him without a second thought. The sound of his body dropping is what followed.
I looked around and saw no one. But on the far wall to the left of me was an old mirror someone left out. I looked in the mirror and saw my reflection, I inspected myself and opened my mouth.
Too many teeth.
The teeth are always the most difficult to manage.
|
Tried something different with this prompt, feedback is always appreciated.
- - -
***---Winter-356---***
> A flaming egg fell from the sky. It hatched and a tribe of purple, man-like creatures were born. They caught us during a hunt, women with food and infants in hand, men scouting for game. They stole the food and shoved it into the ground. Days later we returned to the egg and more food came out. They demanded some men and women in exchange. We could not refuse them. Flaming egg unbirthed, and flew away.
Unknown Nomad. Known through myth.
***---Winter-514---***
> I heard wailing from a beast far off, straying from my tribe to watch. It was a giant beast with white tusks and grey skin, whose legs had been severed by a giant egg. The egg burnt and hatched, purple giants stroked my head like some dog and more purple creatures came out the egg. They were smaller and resembled people, around human size. Now these smaller creatures won't stop following me. They do as members of the tribe demand of them. They will be shoving food into the ground for us now.
Chieftess Flora. Known through word-of-mouth.
***---Winter-589---***
> The Egg returned to us, with no blue creatures. The purple giants offered their presence to keep them in line, in exchange, @*#&* #)$*@ # $(($# @(** *#&#*@(& ($*929$*@(. Our farms need to be maintained after all.
Aman Florson. Interpreted inscription.
***---Winter-885---***
> We have a surplus of the Saxe that now grow food for us in the forest. The Plums have stopped arriving, and Flameen Geeg has not been seen since. However on their last outing, over dozens of winter ago they brought more Saxe to teach the rest to build structures.
Document by Baku Motem. Known from #&*(#@)#
***---Winter-988---***
> It should be common knowledge, but if one were to mix a jack and a mare, you get a mule. Mules cannot have offspring, so they're useless. Tell the Saxe to stop breeding jacks and mares.
Vika! %#@*dooter. Known from word-of-mouth.
(Dooter is an old suffix to denote lineage)
***---Winter-1031---***
> The Saxe seemed to possess a great power, greater than any human. They butchered the Plums, and it was only a matter of time before they would begin to hunt us for sport. The great Cheiftess has sinned against mother nature, and we are paying for it.
Minju Krizlos. Known through writing.
***---Winter-1099---***
> We had thought Flameen Geeg was some myth, but it came back to rescue us. Our planet has been lost to the Saxe, but #(*#$& and we'll be relocated to another one. "Earth".
Adam, known through recording.
|
|
[WP] The Uncanny Valley is not a byproduct of human psychological processes. It is an evolutionary trait. There was a time when our ancestors met creatures that looked almost human. And it was best to stay away from them.
|
Roger, enjoying his morning tea, watched as one of the women from the village across the valley picked her way up to his cabin. He had a hard time recognizing her until she crested the hill, not fifty feet from the comfort of his chair; he wanted to blame that on too much time away from the village, but he had a nagging sense that his eyes were just getting that bad.
He maintained his silence, staring past her into the mountains looming in the distance, turning purple at the sun’s first touches. Breathing heavy, she trudged over to his chair and dropped herself onto the ground. After a few moments, her breathing slowed and she spoke.
“What a view, eh? I guess you see it every day, but I should’ve made the trek up here sooner.”
Roger set down his cup, half-turned toward her. “Don’t try an’ flatter me, Emma. Twenty years out here by m’self, an’ you’re the first visitor in all that time. Tell me what brought you my way.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek and stared down, picking at the grass between her shoes. When she spoke, her voice was small, with a tinge of fright.
“John Miller’s missing, Roger. People say they’ve heard strange noises from his house in the night, but no answer when we knock on his door. Nobody else would come out here to ask you, but they wouldn’t tell me why. Have you seen him anywhere?”
“Haven’t seen him since I left. What kinda noises?”
“His neighbors say it sounds like a dog licking up spilt stew under the table. But a whole hell of a lot louder.”
Roger could feel the color leaving him, as if the sun had chased the previous night’s chill into his face all at once. Emma misinterpreted it, looked up at him with an impish grin.
“C’mon, old man - I know I was a kid the last you saw me, but everyone starts swearing sometime.”
Roger didn’t even hear her. He stood so fast his chair fell over backward, pulling the little side table after it, feeding the dregs of his tea back into the earth. Unbothered, he marched over to the door, beckoning her with a waved hand.
“Has your father taught you to hold a sword, Emma?”
Startled, she sprang up after him. “Yes! I mean, a little. But why?”
“Because I’m getting my axe and lending you a sword and we’re going to John Miller’s house.”
___
They walked in silence. Emma had a question here or there, but mostly she hefted the sword in her hand, feeling out its balance and running through her warmup routines to keep her muscles moving.
It wasn’t until they were approaching the village that she asked the question she most wanted the answer to.
“What are you hoping to find at John’s?”
Roger rested the head of his axe on his shoulder and grunted. “With any luck, an old friend, a hot meal, and a welcoming fire.”
“Why are we armed?”
“Always better to be prepared than not. You know that.”
She grimaced and set her eyes on John’s house, a hundred feet up the dirt path. Everyone they passed had a cheerful wave for Emma and an averted gaze for Roger. She was too focused now to ask.
They reached John’s door, knocked, and got absolute silence in answer. Roger tugged on the door handle, but it wouldn’t move an inch. Barred by something. A hush fell over the people moving about their days outside; some gathered around to see what would happen, but most headed for their homes.
Roger fashioned a torch from a branch, an oiled rag, and a nearby cookfire. He handed it to Emma.
“We’re going in here. If I tell you to get out, you get out and hold this to the door until it catches fire. Then do the windows, and throw it into the foundation under the house. Understand?”
She shook her head. “But John might be in there and you might-”
“Emma! I know you don’t fully understand what’s happening right now, but I need you to do this. Can you do it or not?”
She nodded, and, without a word, Roger slammed his axe in between the door and the frame, pried it open, and stormed inside.
Rushing in behind him, she was slammed by a heavy stench of decay. She nearly dropped the torch right there, but managed to recover herself enough to look around the room. The walls and ceiling were coated in a thick, viscous, silver fluid. It seemed to absorb the light streaming in from the sun, now high in the sky, casting a disorienting darkness over the inside of the house.
John’s family were nowhere to be seen. Roger took a wide stance between her and the chair closest to the cold, dead fireplace. She watched over his shoulder as a human-shaped mass of the silver fluid stood and moved out from behind the chair.
It had John’s face, but it wasn’t John.
Roger lifted his axe over his head and heaved it down in a punishing vertical arc. It sank into the thing’s shoulder, caught in its chest, and slipped out, slamming into the floorboards at its feet.
It laughed and spoke in an unholy cacophony of John’s voice and something deeper, older. “You already know you’re going to need more than that, *Roger*. Of course, we don’t even have to do this. You can always come back to us.” The tone was mocking, taunting.
Roger looked over his shoulder at Emma. “It’s time, girl. Time for you to go.”
She lingered for a moment, eyes locked onto the thing with John’s face until it turned to her with a flash of sharp, pointed teeth and an exaggerated, watery wink.
“Yesss, *girl*. Time to leave. The old man would hate for you to see what happens next.” Another laugh, a rumbling cackle that seemed to come from all of the silver fluid at once.
Roger pulled the sword from her grasp and shoved her back to the door. His hands caught in the fabric of her shirt for a moment, as if they were covered in sap. She turned and ran out the door, pausing to run the torch over every part of the wall she could reach. The silver fluid made a hissing sound and retracted away from the heat, but, eventually, it caught.
She glanced over her shoulder for one more look and saw Roger plunge his left hand into the thing’s chest, raising the sword high in his right. And then she was outside, bounding around the house, setting it aflame everywhere she could reach. The next thing she knew, she was sitting alone in the grass, watching the cinders blow away on the wind.
The house burned for hours. When the last timber fell, Emma picked herself up and stepped gingerly into the destruction. All was ash save the fireplace, the weapons, and two iridescent stones, the size of her palm, half-hidden in the soot.
She buried them up on the hill, in clear view of the mountains.
|
Porcelain
Have you ever wondered why little dolls and things like that can freak people out so badly? There’s this idea, I first heard it on the internet a few years ago, that says that the uncanny valley is actually an evolutionary fear response, like our inbuilt fears of snakes and spiders. The gist of it was that, a long time ago, there was something out there that resembled humans, but wasn’t quite the same. Something that we should be afraid of. Something so dangerous that it scarred our collective consciousness for thousands of years to come. Well, it turns out that idea was right.
We weren’t even looking for them when we found them. An archeological expedition gone horribly wrong, like something from an old horror film. An earthquake had cracked open a field somewhere in Austria and revealed a lost settlement beneath the ground. A huge cavern that held all manner of huts and tools and all kinds of things, anyone of which would have been the find of a century. It didn’t take long to discover something unsettling about this place though. Human remains. Lots of human remains.
Despite the haunting nature of the settlement, we did as we always had, setting up a camp nearby and beginning the long and arduous task of cataloging each and every artifact we could get our hands on. Eventually, after moving a rug out of the largest of the huts, we founds something strange, even stranger than what we had already been dealing with. A large, round stone had been set into the floor. Etched onto its surface was a variety of symbols and characters that made up a language we had never encountered before. Along with the the writings were crude carvings of what looked almost like people, though proportionally they were a little off. Limbs slightly too long, eyes slightly too large. At the time we thought it was merely a more artistic depiction, though the style gave most of us the willies. Stranger still was the fact that this stone seemed to be covering the entrance to another chamber, sealed beneath the one we had been in.
We had brought in all kinds of equipment, and had soon established a crane to lift the heavy stone and access the chamber beneath. Despite our best attempts to be careful, the stone was cracked in half upon its removal, taking with it the ability to ever seal the the chamber up again. We had been hoping to find the burial site of some ancient king or ruler, but found something else entirely.
The chamber was vast, stretching miles in all directions, far beyond what any human eye could see. This was no hallowed ground however. No honored kings were buried here, nor important artifacts. Instead were rows and rows of what could be mistaken at first glance as life sized porcelain dolls. Like the carvings on the stone had shown, there were little things about them that just weren’t quite right. Their arms were long and thin, separated by well defined joints that broke up the flat, hard sections of white material that made up their ‘skin’. Their eyes were stuck wide open and were featureless and tar black. At first we thought that they were dolls, a strange reflection of the Terracotta Army found in China. This idea was quickly dropped when they started to move.
Any notion of humanity was also dispelled at their movements. The hard sections of their bodies clinked together as their limbs jerked all about, as if filled with fluid instead of muscle. They began to climb out of the pit and we found ourselves unable to stop them. There was no physical barrier, and yet we could not bring ourselves to even come close to them. We watched helplessly as thousands of them crawled from below, powerless to stop them. By the time they had all gone, there was barely a shred of sanity left in us. It seems that the danger they pose is not to the body, but to the mind.
Remember this as you walk home on a dark night, or when you think you see a person in the rear view mirror of your car. There is a reason for every fear that humanity has acquired. A very, very good reason
|
|
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
The heat of a rift breezed over me. It was like standing next to an open oven. Out of it climbed a man that looked similar to me, but for one eye being gouged out and a weird goat beard. The type I'd never have.
"Don't eat that," The man said to me.
He was speaking of the pizza in front of my mouth. The delicious tomato tasting, cheese-covered, meat including pizza in front of me. And, it would already be inside my mouth if I wasn't so shocked from the sudden arrival.
I'd never seen anything like it.
"Just one bite?" I reason.
"No!" He screams.
The pizza slice draws closer to my mouth but stops inches from it. Nobody is going to tell me what to do in my own house. Suddenly, A new rift opens in front of me. A drop of sweat slithers down my forehead. My dream, super hot, ideal partner steps out of the rift.
"I'll fuck you if you let go of that pizza," he says to me, and my dick turns into a small mountain.
"I'll just take one bite," I say, the smell of the pizza enticing me. Drool drops down onto the marble floor.
"No!" They both scream.
The pizza inches closer to my mouth. I'll figure out what's happening after one, delicious, bite. I'm about to clamp down on the pizza when another rift opens. The air in front of my is blurred form the heat. Out of the rift walks my mother, my dead mother.
"If you eat that I will disown you!" My mother says.
"What the hell is this all about?" I scream, the frustration I feel makes my head warm.
"In three hundred years the world will end," the man looks like me. "With track down the beginning eating that pizza will send the world into a downward spiral into the great ending."
"Have you ever heard of the snowball effect?" My mother said. "A small action leads to a larger action that leads to a larger action so on and so on. Put that slice down Herald, put it down."
"But it's just a slice of pizza!"
"A world ending slice of pizza," he said.
"Wonderful line," I said, as I ate the pizza.
They disappeared, and that's when I realized that I had never had a pizza in my hand. It was a baby's head. Blood all around me. The door broke down. Cops rushed in. Who did I just kill?
|
"What is this?" Came the voice of a woman from the counter behind me.
"An Italiano dish, a-miss," a thickly accented voice replied to her.
I turned slightly to watch the conversation. I had just sat down with a miniature round of this, 'pizza', myself, to enjoy the herby oregano-and-tomato fragrance of the dish. I was a simple cowpuncher, dressed in dusty old trail clothes, a wide-brimmed simple brown hat, efficient at blocking the sun, spurs and boots with dusty brown saddle pants tucked into them. I wore a similarly colored brown jacket that fell to just below my hips, only slightly concealing the six-shooter I wore at my belt. My face felt scruffy. I needed a shave. I pondered the barber a short walk away, and at the delicious, cheesy, bready, foreign food in front of me.
"Well, what's it called? What's in it? Do you make it in that big oven back there?" The young blonde woman, only 16 or 17 at the most, bombarded the poor old man, dressed in an apron and with a big bushy beard and graying salt-and-pepper hair under a (ridiculous) huge chef's hat, with questions. Questions about the food, the restaurant itself... This went on. She must've actually ordered something during the conversation, as the old man handed her a plate with food similar to mine. I was just cutting a bit of the round mini pizza with a knife and fork into a few pieces, to finally begin to enjoy this beautiful and aromatic creation. I began to lift the fork to my mouth, when I hear, "excuse me, is this seat taken?" It's the chatty young woman again, and she's talking to me.
"No, miss, you can go ahead and take it." My voice came out a bit rough, trail dust had settled in my gullet, but I made myself sound polite. Think being polite made things worse for me.
"Oh, thank you!" She squeaked in her cheery little voice. She promptly sat down next to me, in the little wooden chair to my right at the table. I sat my fork down.
"Is there something I can help you with, miss? I don't mean to sound rude, but I am trying to enjoy a meal here. I've never had something like this before."
She ignored my question, and instead beamed at me. "I've never had this before either! What'd he call it?"
"Pizza, I think." I began to lift the fork to my mouth again. Before I could get it all the way there, she cleared her throat somewhat forcefully.
"Don't you say prayer before you eat, mister? It's only polite, to the Lord, and especially around company." She looked at me expectantly.
"Look, miss, I'm not your company, and you ain't mine. I don't even know you. If I was a religious man, I would have said prayer, wouldn't I have? But I ain't, I'm just a cowpuncher tryin' to get through this life. Not much concern to me about the next."
Her positively beaming attitude turned sour. She glowered at me, before standing up with her plate and walking briskly over to the next table. She stared at me, the whole time we ate, in disapproving silence.
It didn't make that pizza any less damn delicious, though. Like nothing I have ever had. Even with the seething feeling of damnation radiating from that teenage girl. She did shut up, though. That was nice.
|
|
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
“Drop the pineapple Chris.”
Chris’ hand lingered mid-air, a slice of perfectly cooked pineapple pizza dangling downwards. He was far to infatuated with the food’s sheer beauty to pay much attention to Robert, who at this moment was ranting about something to do with toppings - his queries becoming increasingly tiresome.
“I just want to *help* you Chris. please... just drop the slice.”
Chris took another bite (savouring the pleasurable taste as he did so), before responding.
“What the hell are you talking about Robert? You sure everything’s okay?”
Robert’s fist slammed upon the oak table between them. “CHRIS, GET THE PINEAPPLE OFF NOW!” his stood up abruptly, knocking his chair sideways in the process. “*Listen* to me Chris...”
“*Okay, okay!* ...what is it man?”
Robert glanced somewhere behind them, his expression somber.
“It’s... too late.”
A clanging sound emitted from behind, shards of glass flying all around - one of them unfortunate enough to land in Chris’ pizza.
“My perfectly cooked cuisine...”
The sound of approaching boots filled the room.
“I’m sorry Chris.. y-you had a good run buddy.”
“Robert, for the love of god, could you please exp-“
“STOP RIGHT THERE PUNKS!”
What appeared to be a police officer suddenly appeared between the two, a pair of jet black sunglasses perched upon his crooked nose.
“I surrender!” Robert exclaimed, pushing both hands high. He was visibly holding back tears.
The utter bewilderment surging through Chris was almost enough to stifle his grief for the pizza he’d lost. *Almost.*
“How could you ruin a perfectly fine meal like that?”
“And break my window!” He quickly added.
The officer stood, hands on his sides, each word muttered mirroring a deep rumble.
“IT’S US, THE PIZZA POLICE! AND BY ARTICLE 35 OF THE CHEESE CONDUCT, I DECLARE YOU UNDER ARREST FOR POSSESSION OF...”
He looked sick.
“Pineapple. On. Pizza.”
“It’s not that bad!” Chris pleaded.
“QUIET SCUM!”
Chris grabbed a slice from the plate below - the last untouched by any glass.
“HERE! TRY IT!” He gestured, waving the slice forwards.
“DO YOU *WANT* ME TO INCREASE YOUR SENTENCE?”
Before the argument could progress any further, Robert chimed up.
“Come on guys! I know we all have our differences, but at the at of the day..”
He pulled out a glass of milk.
“We can all agree that pizza dipped in milk is the *true* way to enjoy it!”
|
"What is this?" Came the voice of a woman from the counter behind me.
"An Italiano dish, a-miss," a thickly accented voice replied to her.
I turned slightly to watch the conversation. I had just sat down with a miniature round of this, 'pizza', myself, to enjoy the herby oregano-and-tomato fragrance of the dish. I was a simple cowpuncher, dressed in dusty old trail clothes, a wide-brimmed simple brown hat, efficient at blocking the sun, spurs and boots with dusty brown saddle pants tucked into them. I wore a similarly colored brown jacket that fell to just below my hips, only slightly concealing the six-shooter I wore at my belt. My face felt scruffy. I needed a shave. I pondered the barber a short walk away, and at the delicious, cheesy, bready, foreign food in front of me.
"Well, what's it called? What's in it? Do you make it in that big oven back there?" The young blonde woman, only 16 or 17 at the most, bombarded the poor old man, dressed in an apron and with a big bushy beard and graying salt-and-pepper hair under a (ridiculous) huge chef's hat, with questions. Questions about the food, the restaurant itself... This went on. She must've actually ordered something during the conversation, as the old man handed her a plate with food similar to mine. I was just cutting a bit of the round mini pizza with a knife and fork into a few pieces, to finally begin to enjoy this beautiful and aromatic creation. I began to lift the fork to my mouth, when I hear, "excuse me, is this seat taken?" It's the chatty young woman again, and she's talking to me.
"No, miss, you can go ahead and take it." My voice came out a bit rough, trail dust had settled in my gullet, but I made myself sound polite. Think being polite made things worse for me.
"Oh, thank you!" She squeaked in her cheery little voice. She promptly sat down next to me, in the little wooden chair to my right at the table. I sat my fork down.
"Is there something I can help you with, miss? I don't mean to sound rude, but I am trying to enjoy a meal here. I've never had something like this before."
She ignored my question, and instead beamed at me. "I've never had this before either! What'd he call it?"
"Pizza, I think." I began to lift the fork to my mouth again. Before I could get it all the way there, she cleared her throat somewhat forcefully.
"Don't you say prayer before you eat, mister? It's only polite, to the Lord, and especially around company." She looked at me expectantly.
"Look, miss, I'm not your company, and you ain't mine. I don't even know you. If I was a religious man, I would have said prayer, wouldn't I have? But I ain't, I'm just a cowpuncher tryin' to get through this life. Not much concern to me about the next."
Her positively beaming attitude turned sour. She glowered at me, before standing up with her plate and walking briskly over to the next table. She stared at me, the whole time we ate, in disapproving silence.
It didn't make that pizza any less damn delicious, though. Like nothing I have ever had. Even with the seething feeling of damnation radiating from that teenage girl. She did shut up, though. That was nice.
|
|
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
The heat of a rift breezed over me. It was like standing next to an open oven. Out of it climbed a man that looked similar to me, but for one eye being gouged out and a weird goat beard. The type I'd never have.
"Don't eat that," The man said to me.
He was speaking of the pizza in front of my mouth. The delicious tomato tasting, cheese-covered, meat including pizza in front of me. And, it would already be inside my mouth if I wasn't so shocked from the sudden arrival.
I'd never seen anything like it.
"Just one bite?" I reason.
"No!" He screams.
The pizza slice draws closer to my mouth but stops inches from it. Nobody is going to tell me what to do in my own house. Suddenly, A new rift opens in front of me. A drop of sweat slithers down my forehead. My dream, super hot, ideal partner steps out of the rift.
"I'll fuck you if you let go of that pizza," he says to me, and my dick turns into a small mountain.
"I'll just take one bite," I say, the smell of the pizza enticing me. Drool drops down onto the marble floor.
"No!" They both scream.
The pizza inches closer to my mouth. I'll figure out what's happening after one, delicious, bite. I'm about to clamp down on the pizza when another rift opens. The air in front of my is blurred form the heat. Out of the rift walks my mother, my dead mother.
"If you eat that I will disown you!" My mother says.
"What the hell is this all about?" I scream, the frustration I feel makes my head warm.
"In three hundred years the world will end," the man looks like me. "With track down the beginning eating that pizza will send the world into a downward spiral into the great ending."
"Have you ever heard of the snowball effect?" My mother said. "A small action leads to a larger action that leads to a larger action so on and so on. Put that slice down Herald, put it down."
"But it's just a slice of pizza!"
"A world ending slice of pizza," he said.
"Wonderful line," I said, as I ate the pizza.
They disappeared, and that's when I realized that I had never had a pizza in my hand. It was a baby's head. Blood all around me. The door broke down. Cops rushed in. Who did I just kill?
|
"We can't let you eat that pizza, James," Jeremy spoke up, standing alongside two other people, blocking the plastic table that held a singular box of pizza on its surface, seemingly teasing Jame's as he drooled, droplets of water slowly dribbling from his mouth onto the white carpet that'd been blotted with brown stains that coated the floor of the living room he'd been invited to.
"And why's that?" James retorted with annoyance in his tone, taking off his shoes and socks, stretching his body as the ceiling fan overhead spun about.
"Well, firstly, you're lactose intolerant..." Sarah answered, appalled by James' demeanor as he took off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the white couch that sat behind him.
"So what? Lactose intolerance is just another way of saying weakness. If I cannot face my weaknesses, how can I become stronger?"
"It won't make you stronger! It's going to make you shit your pants again, you idiot!" John shouted, opening his arms broad, attempting to defend the pizza as James leered at him with determination visible in his eyes.
James lingered before responding, cracking his fingers with ease as he eyed the three of them down with malice in his eyes, "No... I'm different this time... I've changed," he spoke, walking toward the three of them as his face tensed, his hands balled, and his blood boiled, preparing to fight for a slice of pizza.
As James continued to walk, his once calm demeanor vanished, turning into a flurry of rage as a single vein formed upon his forehead, signaling the start of his sprinting as he dashed toward the pizza with all the speed he could muster.
"Do it now, John!" Sarah shouted, rushing at James' head-on, forcing him back as the two of them collided. Despite her petite body, borderline anorexic, she managed to push him back, her bones cracking and munching as he continued to push forward. Her hands met with his, like two wrestlers fighting for the state title, neither one willing to give up their pride, not for a second.
"Get out-- of the way!" James shouted, giving Sarah a death stare before tossing her aside, breaking both of her hands, causing her flesh and bone to protrude from underneath her once delicate figure.
"Aughh! John, hurry!" Sarah cried out, fighting against the pain as she writhed on the ground, still eyeing James before turning her fixation on the ceiling fan, following each rotation, counting each spin underneath her breath as she heaved, attempting to regain her composure.
"John, Jeremy, just give me a slice of pizza. I don't want to hurt you," James spoke, walking toward the two of them as cold sweat leaked down their worry-painted faces.
"James... are you really going to do this again?" Sarah spoke, catching James' attention, causing him to turn his head back toward her as both John and Jeremy tiptoed toward him.
"Pizza is yummy. It belongs in my tummy. That's all there is to it..." he spoke, turning his gaze back onto the pizza box, "and anyone that tries to stop me..." John and Jeremy nearly reached him, preparing to wrestle with him as they got into close quarters with him, "they'll get a slice of me!" Jame shouted, ducking underneath John and Jeremy as if he were limboing, dodging both their grasps with ease, slipping away from them like an oiled-up pig.
James, with everyone out of the picture, ran toward the table, lowering his still-stressed hand onto the final slice of pizza that sat in the box lonesomely. He picks it up, his mouthwatering and his stomach quaking as it neared his mouth.
"Wha--" James' questioned in shock as he noticed a thin piece of wire attached to the pizza, connected to the ceiling fan that wrapped around him hastily with each rotation of the fan.
"It's too late! The pizza is mine!" James screeched, putting the pizza into his mouth hole, biting away at the string as the ceiling fan began lifting him into the air, swinging him around like a stray pinata.
"Damnit... we failed..." Sarah spoke meekly, fading into a slumber as blood seeped from her wounds.
"What a shitty--"
As John attempted to speak, James's pants fell down, revealing his bare but to everyone in the room, mooning them with each rotation of the fan.
"I feel sick... why did you guys let me eat the pizza? You knew I was lactose intolerant..." James spoke with the growl of his stomach as the ceiling fan continued spinning.
"What-- Jame's what are you about to do!?" John shouted, attempting to pull him down from the ceiling fan as James kicked him away accidentally with his falling feet.
"I think I'm gonna--" Before James could finish speaking, a wet, loud, monstrous, unholy, distasteful, disdain fuel fart shot out of his bum, painting the room brown as an endless stream of feces poured out of his body.
"No! No! Not again!" John shouted, jumping up from the ground onto the white couch, attempting to shield it from James' poop-stream to no avail.
"Sorry... but it's your fault for letting me eat it..." James spoke dismissively as he continued spinning around, still excreting everywhere as John cried and Jeremy ducked for cover, using Sarah's body as a shield.
"You're a shitty friend," John spoke, wiping off the poop that had been smeared all over him.
"Actually, you're the shitty friend," James spoke, laughing at John as he eyed his poop-ridden friend.
"And Jeremy..."
"The fuck do you want, you asshole?!" Jeremy shouted as his backside was covered in feces, covering his face with James' jacket.
"I didn't shit my pants this time," James spoke with smugness as Jeremy jumped up from his hiding spot, hitting James with all his might as James continued to laugh whilst being spun around.
"Hit me all you want. I've become stronger."
|
|
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
“Drop the pineapple Chris.”
Chris’ hand lingered mid-air, a slice of perfectly cooked pineapple pizza dangling downwards. He was far to infatuated with the food’s sheer beauty to pay much attention to Robert, who at this moment was ranting about something to do with toppings - his queries becoming increasingly tiresome.
“I just want to *help* you Chris. please... just drop the slice.”
Chris took another bite (savouring the pleasurable taste as he did so), before responding.
“What the hell are you talking about Robert? You sure everything’s okay?”
Robert’s fist slammed upon the oak table between them. “CHRIS, GET THE PINEAPPLE OFF NOW!” his stood up abruptly, knocking his chair sideways in the process. “*Listen* to me Chris...”
“*Okay, okay!* ...what is it man?”
Robert glanced somewhere behind them, his expression somber.
“It’s... too late.”
A clanging sound emitted from behind, shards of glass flying all around - one of them unfortunate enough to land in Chris’ pizza.
“My perfectly cooked cuisine...”
The sound of approaching boots filled the room.
“I’m sorry Chris.. y-you had a good run buddy.”
“Robert, for the love of god, could you please exp-“
“STOP RIGHT THERE PUNKS!”
What appeared to be a police officer suddenly appeared between the two, a pair of jet black sunglasses perched upon his crooked nose.
“I surrender!” Robert exclaimed, pushing both hands high. He was visibly holding back tears.
The utter bewilderment surging through Chris was almost enough to stifle his grief for the pizza he’d lost. *Almost.*
“How could you ruin a perfectly fine meal like that?”
“And break my window!” He quickly added.
The officer stood, hands on his sides, each word muttered mirroring a deep rumble.
“IT’S US, THE PIZZA POLICE! AND BY ARTICLE 35 OF THE CHEESE CONDUCT, I DECLARE YOU UNDER ARREST FOR POSSESSION OF...”
He looked sick.
“Pineapple. On. Pizza.”
“It’s not that bad!” Chris pleaded.
“QUIET SCUM!”
Chris grabbed a slice from the plate below - the last untouched by any glass.
“HERE! TRY IT!” He gestured, waving the slice forwards.
“DO YOU *WANT* ME TO INCREASE YOUR SENTENCE?”
Before the argument could progress any further, Robert chimed up.
“Come on guys! I know we all have our differences, but at the at of the day..”
He pulled out a glass of milk.
“We can all agree that pizza dipped in milk is the *true* way to enjoy it!”
|
"We can't let you eat that pizza, James," Jeremy spoke up, standing alongside two other people, blocking the plastic table that held a singular box of pizza on its surface, seemingly teasing Jame's as he drooled, droplets of water slowly dribbling from his mouth onto the white carpet that'd been blotted with brown stains that coated the floor of the living room he'd been invited to.
"And why's that?" James retorted with annoyance in his tone, taking off his shoes and socks, stretching his body as the ceiling fan overhead spun about.
"Well, firstly, you're lactose intolerant..." Sarah answered, appalled by James' demeanor as he took off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the white couch that sat behind him.
"So what? Lactose intolerance is just another way of saying weakness. If I cannot face my weaknesses, how can I become stronger?"
"It won't make you stronger! It's going to make you shit your pants again, you idiot!" John shouted, opening his arms broad, attempting to defend the pizza as James leered at him with determination visible in his eyes.
James lingered before responding, cracking his fingers with ease as he eyed the three of them down with malice in his eyes, "No... I'm different this time... I've changed," he spoke, walking toward the three of them as his face tensed, his hands balled, and his blood boiled, preparing to fight for a slice of pizza.
As James continued to walk, his once calm demeanor vanished, turning into a flurry of rage as a single vein formed upon his forehead, signaling the start of his sprinting as he dashed toward the pizza with all the speed he could muster.
"Do it now, John!" Sarah shouted, rushing at James' head-on, forcing him back as the two of them collided. Despite her petite body, borderline anorexic, she managed to push him back, her bones cracking and munching as he continued to push forward. Her hands met with his, like two wrestlers fighting for the state title, neither one willing to give up their pride, not for a second.
"Get out-- of the way!" James shouted, giving Sarah a death stare before tossing her aside, breaking both of her hands, causing her flesh and bone to protrude from underneath her once delicate figure.
"Aughh! John, hurry!" Sarah cried out, fighting against the pain as she writhed on the ground, still eyeing James before turning her fixation on the ceiling fan, following each rotation, counting each spin underneath her breath as she heaved, attempting to regain her composure.
"John, Jeremy, just give me a slice of pizza. I don't want to hurt you," James spoke, walking toward the two of them as cold sweat leaked down their worry-painted faces.
"James... are you really going to do this again?" Sarah spoke, catching James' attention, causing him to turn his head back toward her as both John and Jeremy tiptoed toward him.
"Pizza is yummy. It belongs in my tummy. That's all there is to it..." he spoke, turning his gaze back onto the pizza box, "and anyone that tries to stop me..." John and Jeremy nearly reached him, preparing to wrestle with him as they got into close quarters with him, "they'll get a slice of me!" Jame shouted, ducking underneath John and Jeremy as if he were limboing, dodging both their grasps with ease, slipping away from them like an oiled-up pig.
James, with everyone out of the picture, ran toward the table, lowering his still-stressed hand onto the final slice of pizza that sat in the box lonesomely. He picks it up, his mouthwatering and his stomach quaking as it neared his mouth.
"Wha--" James' questioned in shock as he noticed a thin piece of wire attached to the pizza, connected to the ceiling fan that wrapped around him hastily with each rotation of the fan.
"It's too late! The pizza is mine!" James screeched, putting the pizza into his mouth hole, biting away at the string as the ceiling fan began lifting him into the air, swinging him around like a stray pinata.
"Damnit... we failed..." Sarah spoke meekly, fading into a slumber as blood seeped from her wounds.
"What a shitty--"
As John attempted to speak, James's pants fell down, revealing his bare but to everyone in the room, mooning them with each rotation of the fan.
"I feel sick... why did you guys let me eat the pizza? You knew I was lactose intolerant..." James spoke with the growl of his stomach as the ceiling fan continued spinning.
"What-- Jame's what are you about to do!?" John shouted, attempting to pull him down from the ceiling fan as James kicked him away accidentally with his falling feet.
"I think I'm gonna--" Before James could finish speaking, a wet, loud, monstrous, unholy, distasteful, disdain fuel fart shot out of his bum, painting the room brown as an endless stream of feces poured out of his body.
"No! No! Not again!" John shouted, jumping up from the ground onto the white couch, attempting to shield it from James' poop-stream to no avail.
"Sorry... but it's your fault for letting me eat it..." James spoke dismissively as he continued spinning around, still excreting everywhere as John cried and Jeremy ducked for cover, using Sarah's body as a shield.
"You're a shitty friend," John spoke, wiping off the poop that had been smeared all over him.
"Actually, you're the shitty friend," James spoke, laughing at John as he eyed his poop-ridden friend.
"And Jeremy..."
"The fuck do you want, you asshole?!" Jeremy shouted as his backside was covered in feces, covering his face with James' jacket.
"I didn't shit my pants this time," James spoke with smugness as Jeremy jumped up from his hiding spot, hitting James with all his might as James continued to laugh whilst being spun around.
"Hit me all you want. I've become stronger."
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[WP] Knights covered head to toe in metallic armour, fortresses made to resist sieges, scarce population centers... Who would've guessed that the middle ages would be so prepared to survive a zombie outbreak.
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Sir Harlan watched motionlessly from his position atop the ridge. He had seen the smoke the moment he'd ridden free of The Blackwood, and he'd smelled it a good deal beforehand. It was likely some poor fool in the village had knocked over a candle the night before and burned his hut to a crisp. Harlan had seen that before.
But this...
Harlan stared at the group of villagers stumbling around the centre of the ruined town. He could see the blood on their faces even at this distance. And not one of them made a sound. He was a career soldier, and he had dealt with enough mayhem and evil in his time to know that this was some new devilry altogether.
Burned and slaughtered villages weren't uncommon in this part of the kingdom, especially considering the sporadic raids of The Seafolk. However, those times there was always an atmosphere of grief and pain and fear that one could hear from a mile off. The only feeling Harlan had as he sat atop Ruin and watched the villagers dig through a patch of rubble was a prickling at the back of his neck.
Suddenly, Harlan heard the noise he expected.
Bloodcurdling shrieks rose up from the wreckage as the villagers found what they had been looking for. Harlan didn't hesitate. He grasped his reins and spurred Ruin towards the village.
'Whatever was happening here, perhaps the sight of the King's Authority will help restore order to this place.' Harlan thought as Ruin pounded down the slope towards the chaos. 'And if the King's Authority is not enough, there's always Steel.'
The sound of hooves and clanking plate had the immediate effect Harlan was looking for. All of the villagers rose from their scrabblings and focused on him as he reined Ruin to a halt a dozen paces from them.
"Fear not! I am Sir Harlan of Blackwood, Knight of Kaleth. Tell me wh..." but he got no further as the knot of villagers lunged toward him, covering the intervening space in an instant. But that instant was enough for Harlan.
With experience born of a lifetime of campaigning, and of fighting far more dangerous opponents than a half-dozen peasants, he knew how to read any situation. The blank, hungering stares of the villagers were inhuman. Beastial. Nevermind the massive, gaping wounds many of them had and ignored. It was the eyes. They told Harlan everything he needed to know.
Regardless of any punishment of Man or God, Harlan knew in his gut there was no alternative but death. In one swift motion, he drew his longsword and aimed a downward stroke at the first ragged man to reach him, catching him on the shoulder. With the height advantage of horseback, the sword cleaved him to the navel. Harlan knew it would be immediately fatal and turned to face the next agressor, apparently the village headsman. A glint of his gold chain-of-office showed through the dried blood coating his chest.
Harlan drove his sword straight into the man's chest, right up to the hilt. Surely fatal. But as Harlan moved to free his blade, the headsman lunged again. Harlan barely had time to grip the reins as Ruin pivoted suddenly underneath Harlan and delivered a magnificent kick, sending his foe crashing backwards in the dirt before getting himself and his master away from the clawing hands of the villagers.
Blessing the courage of his warhorse and cursing the loss of his sword, Harlan reined about, trying to make sense of things. Not even 30 seconds had passed since he had first ridden up. He had come here to try and help, and instead found himself attacked and forced to kill the very people he was sworn to protect.
But they weren't dead.
Harlan saw the four remaining villagers still making their way towards him. He also saw the headsman start to rise, the blade of the sword protruding two feet out of his back. He glanced toward the man he had nearly cut in two and felt ice in his veins. The legs weren't moving, but the half-severed torso was clawing its way towards him, the lifeless eyes fixated on Harlan.
Harlan reached back and freed his horseman's axe from the saddle. Three feet of stout hickory, with a half-moon blade on side and a four-faced hammer on the other, surmounted by a 6-inch steel spike for thrusting. It was a wicked weapon, made for fighting other knights and smashing thorugh foes during a charge.
As the villagers drew closer, Harlan sought for the inner strength to complete this grisly task. Putting aside his fears and misgivings, he let the wrath of the warrior flood him. Bellowing in incoherent rage, Harlan drove Ruin straight at the villagers, axe held high in the air...
---
Eight seconds later, Harlan was victorious.
He didn't exactly recall how he had defeated the... creatures. He couldn't think of them as human anymore, not now. Harlan lifted his visor to catch his breath and get a better look at things. First he checked that he had well and truly ended things here.
The four villagers were sprawled on the ground, exactly where they had been standing moments before. Three of them had half a skull, and the head of the fourth had rolled some feet away to rest at the foot of a charred hut. Harlan didn't know why he had gone for their heads this time, but it seemed to have worked, and that was enough for him. Whatever foul magic had been cast was not without its limits.
The other two he had first wounded appeared quite a bit... flatter than before. Ruin must have done a hell of a dance on them. The torso man was still moving though, however feebly. Harlan dismounted and crouched to get a better look at the thing. Then he immediately decided he had seen enough and brought the hammer head down on the twitching skull, finally making it a truly lifeless corpse.
His task finished, Harlan took a moment to consider what had just happened. He had ridden out of the forest not three minutes beforehand, and in that span of time he had seen and experienced things unimaginable. As he pondered what this might mean, he heard a quiet "Thank You" from behind him.
Whirling around and raising his axe before he could catch himself, he saw a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, her face a mess of emotions. Pain, grief, exhaustion, and happiness. She was quite beautiful too, he thought briefly.
Harlan quickly stowed his axe and moved to help the girl, she looked as if she could barely stand. He could see why, she had cuts and bruises all over, and what looked like bite marks on her arms.
"My Lady, what evil has befallen this place?"
"I don't know, m'lord... I.. I was just sleeping and all of a sudden I heard screaming everywhere... we went outside to see and everything was burning. Best friends were attacking each other in the street. I barely escaped into the cellar to hide... They had just found me when you rode in... I can never repay you for your bravery, Sir."
"There is nothing to repay, your safety is reward enough. But come, this is no place to linger. We must ride for Kaleth and tell the King. He will want to hear your tale. And you look like you could use a hot meal and a good night's sleep behind some walls, My Lady."
Harlan lifted the young girl onto Ruin's back before moving to retrieve his sword. As an afterthought, he found a grain sack in the rubble and stuffed the severed head of a villager into it, jaws still working slowly as it disappeared into the burlap.
'Witness or not', Harlan thought, 'it will still be good to have proof of this evil."
Mounting behind the girl, Harlan took up his reins and spurred Ruin west towards the capitol. It was only a half-day's ride to Kaleth from here, and Harlan had a sinking feeling that this might not be the only village affected. The word must be spread, and haste was needed, not only for news, but the girl as well. Hopefully she would handle the ride well, she seemed even weaker now next to him than she had when he first saw her.
As he left the village at a gallop, Harlan had a nagging feeling that he might have overlooked something. His instincts told him it was important, however, with how suddenly this had happened, he supposed it was only natural to miss things. When they arrived, they could sort out all the details with the other lords and the King.
The thought faded in his mind under the drumming hooves as they rode towards the high walls of Kaleth.
-------
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**Knights of Eden**
The troop of knights stopped their travels in a passerby town called Thorns. They tied their horses to wooden posts along the road and carefully dismounted with their swords and shields either on their backs or with their steeds. The sun was departing on the horizon and the men continued to the middle of the village to set a campfire for cooking turkey and potatoes. Some of them had wine to spare and a cittern to entertain the crowd.
The company began to feast and wallow the rest of their night. Until a scream opened up. A few of the knights stood up to attention, wearing black steel armour. They sheathed their swords and scanned the radius. A quiet procession. Then again, they heard a struggle coming from one of the homes nearly a lot away.
"Stand your ground, men. No use to split our force for an eager coyote," the marshall informed.
The men went back to their place of den. Others decided to patrol the campfire, at the ready.
Noises of grass and branches breaks the calm. The entire troops ascends to their swords and spears. A second is procured. A group of men breach their visibility, growling and screeching in a sprint. One of the knights lets out a cautious yell as he steps toward the herd while swinging his blade. The rest follow suit and follow the counter. Three against three in swift coordination, they put down the insurrection. And to the rear, more of the village people came rushing to the encampment in uniformity.
"We've been flogged!", a knight exclaims to the rest.
They formed a circle formation around the campfire, bracing for the incoming flock approaching.
More and more were congregating at the flank so as to mess up their estimation and catch the men by surprise. The marshall notices their strategy and points his torch before throwing it at the herd. Archers snapped their ammunition while others pitched their spears at them. It only created a delay, disarming them as the horde killed off five knights, while the marshall lays overwhelmed.
The rest of the knights returned back to the circle and tend to the fallen marshall. The assault was a cacophony of grewl screams and raunches, cutting their way back to the campfire, combatting efficiently in continuous strikes on the tide of deranged beasts. Dismembered bodies piled endlessly.
"The marshall is secure. Mount the horses."
A couple knights run to the horses. The marshall is let back up to his unit and his horse brought to him. The knights encircle the rest of the town in search for anyone still alive. Torches illuminated the windows while knights pillaged the town. Survivors were guarded to the town lodge and notified by the marshall that they were to accompany them to the closest town.
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[WP] As punishment in the afterlife, violent criminals re-live incidents from their victim(s)’ point of view.
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I open my eyes. I’m sitting in a large court room. I look around quickly. Windows that should show the outside instead lead to a glowing chaos of colors.
“Ahem.” A voice says.
I look up and see a person where the judge is supposed to be. I couldn’t tell what they looked like. Their features seemed to be shifting always but somehow staying the same.
“Alright, let’s begin.” They said while lifting a stack of paperwork from an unknown source. “Gordon Balliard, you are being sentenced to hell for willingly committing atrocious sins that go against the moral code of the universe.”
“Your honor!” I start to say.
“No you don’t get to talk.” The judge says while snapping their fingers.
I tried to finish my sentence but I realized my mouth had entirely disappeared.
“Anyways, your punishment will be to witness your crimes but in your victim’s perspective. Every single crime.”
I realize what they meant. I killed several people, and I was executed for it. No! I won’t allow this demon to torture me!
I stand up and run over to the judge, ready to attack them.
“Yeah, no. You can’t do that either.” They said while snapping for a second time.
I suddenly lose feeling in my legs, and then I fall to the ground. I look back and see that they had dissolved into the air.
“Alright guards, take him to his torture cube.” The judge said while materializing a gavel and banging it.
I see two people in police outfits come to take me. I look at them and realize they look exactly like me. I start to squirm around with my arms, trying to fight them off.
“What don’t you understand about, you can’t do that.”
My arms lose feeling and then end up with the same fate as my legs. I’m just an immobile torso and a head now. My clones pick me up and drag me off to a door at the end of the room. They unlock it, revealing something sort of like outer space. They throw me in and I fall onto a floor that came out of nowhere.
“Come here! I know you’re hiding in here!” I hear my voice say.
I suddenly realize what’s going on. Im experiencing my victim’s perspective. Im hiding under the bed.
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
The door swings open and I see myself, wielding a knife and a scary smile.
There was probably something wrong with me. Something that I can see now that I’ve been cured of it in the afterlife. Maybe I was a sociopath, or a psychopath, or some other path, but there was something wrong with me.
“Are you in the closet?” Past me says while opening the closet.
This is going to end terribly.
“Are you behind the mirror?” Past me says while looking behind the mirror. “Oh! I know where you are. Are you under the bed?”
My grinning face appears and begins to claw at me.
“COME HERE LITTLE RAT. IM THE CAT AND I WANT TO PLAY.”
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” I scream while kicking past me’s face.
Past me gets up and then walks to the other side of the bed and jabs the knife into my back. I scream in pain. Past me grabs my current self and then pulls me from under the bed. I begin kicking and screaming at the top of my lungs while past me stabs my body several times. It hurt so badly.
My body was then motionless, my vision clouded, and pain flooding every nerve in my body. My vision started to fade into blackness and then nothing.
My eyes open. I’m in a bathroom. This time, my past self is already in the room. I’m screaming.
“PLEASE! PLEASE DONT KILL ME!” My victim says. I didn’t make her say that, she just did.
“Please don’t hurt me!” My past self said mockingly. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
My past self drives a knife into my chest. A series of stabbing continues after that but I try not to focus on the pain. Eventually, the same dying process begins. Blurry vision, pain, loss of feeling, and then darkness.
My eyes jolt open. I’m in another body, this time in a secluded field.
“Oh, I remember this one.” I say out loud.
I look behind me and see my past self running at full speed towards me. I guess I can try to escape.
I start running in the opposite direction. I keep running, and running, and running. I keep running until I’m get too tired to run any longer. I stop and look at my surroundings. Trees, and trees, and bushes, and grass, and more trees.
“Why are you running? I just want to play little mouse! Don’t hide from me!” My past self shouts from the distance.
This didn’t happen originally. What happened in the real world was that I stabbed him in the arm and then killed him from there. Maybe I can change things here.
I find the strength to run again and keep running while trying to remember where I am. I keep running through Forest and thick bushes, trying to outrun my attacker.
I eventually get tired and stop again. I look around and then see a light up ahead. Maybe it was a car.
I keep walking towards it.
It’s a blue truck. It’s my blue truck. It’s my car. I can steal it from myself and then get out of here.
I quickly get close to it. The window is down and the keys are inside. I grab them and unlock it. I jump in and start it.
*bang*
I look over and see myself, banging on the door. “Not today!” I shout while driving off.
Up ahead, I see a sign telling me where the closest town is. 4 miles away. I suddenly realize that i probably just escaped and that I won’t be able to get to get to my current self.
After 4 miles, the lights of a town come into view. I realize that I must have a phone. I look in my pockets. Nothing. I look in the backseat. There it is. I quickly grab it and call 911. It rings but then someone picks up.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I just escaped from a murderer, he was-“
“Yes I know. Listen, Gordon, the real reason we made you experience your victim’s point of view are because we wanted to test you afterwards. If you were to not make the same sins again if given the chance, we would have had you reincarnated. This isn’t hell, there is no such thing. This is purgatory.”
“But, what happens now? Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Well, you aren’t really supposed to escape. But since you did escape, and you were going to report yourself to the police, we are going to let you continue living on as this victim.”
“What? But, uh, ok?”
“Great! Now we are going to reprogram your brain really quickly.”
“What!?”
The entire world around me dematerializes. I’m sitting back in the court room. The judge is standing infront of me.
“Okay so, we are going to reprogram your brain to retain your old memories, but also have the memories of this victim and his personality.”
“Wait but-“
The judge snaps and my brain feels light for a second. I feel like I’m floating and then all my memories disappear for a second before returning with the memories and personality of my victim.
“Have fun with your new life Jonathan Markus”
The entire world materializes back into existence and I’m back in the car.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
This time, it was real.
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~ *Dedicated to Liam of 2C, who won't be released until 2047.* ~
Liam is tied to a chair, with his hands bound behind his back so tightly with zip ties that their circulation has been cut; he wishes that all of him could be numb.
A crude gag, specifically a sock, was roughly shoved into his mouth and is being held in place with duct tape that wraps a ring around his head. His eyes are covered the same way.
He can hear the burglar methodically looting his house. But the burglar isn't only interested in stealing and damaging valuables. The sadist also wants to damage flesh, and not only human; the dog has finally stopped piteously whimpering.
Liam can hear the sadist walk up behind him. He can hear him flicking his stun gun. Please, Liam thinks and mumbles, Don't shock me again.
The plea falls on deaf ears, same as it always does - the same that it did. The looting was just a diversion to pass the time; the torture is the real goal.
The sadist stuns Liam repeatedly. That flicking sound wasn't only the stun gun - a cigarette was also lit, and it is extinguished against Liam's skin. That's the third in the last thirty minutes.
Liam cannot break free. He doesn't want to stay awake, but he also doesn't want to die. He's stuck in this limbo until he remembers that he will eventually involuntarily suffocate on the sock. He wants to stop resisting, but the real victim resisted until his end, and Liam has to repeat his actions.
It's a waiting game. The result is always the same. And after his murderer wins, the game is reset and immediately begins again.
What also hurts Liam is that he knows his murderer, and has for a while. His murderer knows where to look because he's been invited into his house before.
It takes nearly an hour to die. Liam is cursed with remembering the entire process, and he can never think of anything else except what misery will be inflicted next.
Liam hopes he will only be here for 45 years, the same length as his sentence.
Then that would mean that only approximately 390,000 deaths remain.
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[WP] As punishment in the afterlife, violent criminals re-live incidents from their victim(s)’ point of view.
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##The Hitchhiker
The movement of the road is soothing, and I have to fight to stay awake. I turn on the radio to hard rock for an extra kick. The night is so peaceful, but I know that the violence is coming. I see myself walking on the side of the street.
My foot hits the brake, and my hands start to pull over. Inside, I am trying to prevent my body from acting because I know what happens, but I am forced to watch. He smiles at me. It is a charming smile that he practiced often in front of a mirror. The driver shouldn't have picked me up, but they were too tired to realize their mistake.
*I was getting bored with my standard murders. I wanted a murder that would be risky and get my heart racing again. What better way to make a murder more exciting than to risk my own life. I made a pact before hitchhiking to kill the driver as we are driving in the hopes of creating an accident. It would probably end poorly, but the thrill would be worth it.*
I unlock the car doors. He thanks me as he gets into the vehicle and compliments my taste in music. I laugh as I start to drive. The man is an excellent conversationalist. For a brief moment, I forget what happens next.
*Fools like him are so easy to manipulate. His taste in music sucks. He looks half asleep. Maybe I shouldn't have gone into this car. It is almost too easy. I pull out my knife.*
The knife's blade is expected but still painful. I lose control of the vehicle as I get stabbed. The car slams into a nearby bridge. The hitchhiker didn't wear a seatbelt and crashes through the window. I get to watch myself die before I die. I laugh out blood as my vision fades.
The night looks so peaceful as I drive again. The knife wounds have healed. I close my eyes because I know that I will not crash and wait until the car stops again.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
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Live by the gun, die by the gun.
He woke up sputtering at the pearly gates, dishing out verbal abuse to the heavens. That lying, cheating, good-for-nothing... double crossing his best friend to appease a rival gang. The ear-splitting roar of the sidearm still pulsed in Derrick's head, causing him to scream even louder.
"Sir, do you know where you are right now?"
A middle-aged woman walked towards him, looking utterly unlike the angels painted on stained-glass windows. What was this sick excuse for paradise?
"Yeah, I know. Do I look like an idiot? I'm... I'm..."
The realization didn't merely strike him; it pierced the marrow of his brain, sending him reeling far more than any gunshot could.
"I'm dead."
Smiling gently, the woman stepped closer. "I understand what you're going through. It's one thing to know you are going to die, and another to *know* you are going to die."
"But I don't understand!" Derrick protested, tossing his arms vaguely in the air like he always had when he was... alive. "I'm only twenty-eight. I mean, I was twenty-eight. It's not my time!"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Death is a cunning thief. It is wise to always keep your oil lamps trimmed, watching closely."
"I don't care about your Bible verses. It's not fair!" he said, throwing her arm off.
Her benign smile remained. Little did Derrick know, she had dealt with millions of worse cases. "It's interesting you should mention that. Follow me, I have someone I want you to meet."
Derrick, still cursing anything and everything under his breath, swaggered along behind the gentle, prim woman. When he started to take in his surroundings, however, his lips twisted from spewing vehement hate to gaping. They were click-clacking down a mammoth hallway, one with walls that extended so high they were obscured by clouds. It was the biggest enclosed space he had ever seen in his life, yet he and his guide were the only two here. There were few trappings: everything was simply white.
They walked for hours, days, years, eons. All until they reached a massive double gate that looked like the entrance to a medieval fortress. There was a single chair that was so dwarfed by the gates Derrick didn't even notice it until he heard the impatiently ticking feet of the man who sat on it. He was well-dressed -- a Brooks Brothers suit, fashionable watch, meticulously shined shoes. Clutched in his hand was a key.
Turning to Derrick, the woman handed the newly deceased another, identical key. "Do you know this man?" she asked him.
"No, I... oh no no no. It was all a mistake, just a mistake, don't try and spring this on me. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't!"
The fashionable man vaulted to his feet, face burning as hot as the sun with rage. "I've been waiting for this moment for five years buster. Don't try and weasel out of this one, you filthy lowlife! Boy do I have a bone to pick with you!"
Stepping between the two men -- one livid, one terrified -- the woman said, "Fighting won't solve anything. Neither of you can enter the gates to paradise unless you *both* put in your keys voluntarily. I suggest you work things out."
"Work things out with a disgusting murderer!" the man in the suit shouted. "You're fooling yourself, Miss."
"I figured as much," she said with a worn smile. Then, without warning, she stretched her arms and yanked the two men together and instantly they were somewhere else. Somewhere on Earth...
<1/2>
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
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The quiet hum of temple priestesses droned on. Air, thick with incense and smoke clung heavily in tired lungs. One by one, the candidates fell to the ground writhing in pain. At long last, a lone survivor remained standing, just barely, in the center of many dead.
“Well done, child, well done,” crooned a voice from the depth. Slowly, the priestesses closed in on the Survivor. In their hands they each held a syringe full with the latest technological advancement, the Elixir of Gods, touted to empower the recipient with a power chosen by the Gods.
The child, a slave captured from faraway lands, trembled. He stood here because he had earned their trust as a devoted convert. But in his secret heart of hearts, he did not revere the gods of the Empire, and did not wish to be imbued with their strength. He hated these people who had laid waste to his people, hated that they expected his gratitude for being spared, and above all, he hated himself for groveling shamelessly to their temples and gods. Hatred welled up within him, and as the first needles pierced his skin, he shouted, “death to all heathens! Death to you all!”
—————————-
Thousands of years later
The barbaric tribesmen, in a surprising turn of ingenuity, captured Death. The villagers, barely more advanced than the apes they hunted, grunted at each other. Some were terrified - to defy Death and capture him would surely bring forth punishment and suffering. Others believed that they now held the key to immortality. Shouting and gesticulating, they circled Death round and round.
Death did not understand the exact exchanges, but had observed enough sentient beings to understand their conflict. He waited patiently. As one who had laid waste to empires, gaining more Life at every touch, he stood now a withered husk barely recognizable as a living creature. Time was on his side. It always was.
In the midst of the heated debate the village champion’s hand carelessly brushed against the face of Death. And with that, the strapping young youth fell, never to rise again. Silence descended upon the tribe, before a distraught cry from the champion’s wife pierced through the frozen air. A frenzied commotion arose. Any doubts they had, now there was none. The villagers quickly set fire to the entire forest and fled.
Death relaxed. Fire licked at his withered feet, and he felt his body slowly turning to crisp. What they did not know, was that the power of the long ago Empire’s gods was not to be burnt. As the fire consumed Death, each and every one of his atoms were released to the world. Winds blew it about, until at long last, death was everywhere. The villagers should mot have rejoiced, for he is not gone, Death did not sleep. He is now a thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on snow. Death to all heathens, death to you all.
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The quiet hum of temple priestesses droned on. Air, thick with incense and smoke clung heavily in tired lungs. One by one, the candidates fell to the ground writhing in pain. At long last, a lone survivor remained standing, just barely, in the center of many dead.
“Well done, child, well done,” crooned a voice from the depth. Slowly, the priestesses closed in on the Survivor. In their hands they each held a syringe full with the latest technological advancement, the Elixir of Gods, touted to empower the recipient with a power chosen by the Gods.
The child, a slave captured from faraway lands, trembled. He stood here because he had earned their trust as a devoted convert. But in his secret heart of hearts, he did not revere the gods of the Empire, and did not wish to be imbued with their strength. He hated these people who had laid waste to his people, hated that they expected his gratitude for being spared, and above all, he hated himself for groveling shamelessly to their temples and gods. Hatred welled up within him, and as the first needles pierced his skin, he shouted, “death to all heathens! Death to you all!”
—————————-
Thousands of years later
The barbaric tribesmen, in a surprising turn of ingenuity, captured Death. The villagers, barely more advanced than the apes they hunted, grunted at each other. Some were terrified - to defy Death and capture him would surely bring forth punishment and suffering. Others believed that they now held the key to immortality. Shouting and gesticulating, they circled Death round and round.
Death did not understand the exact exchanges, but had observed enough sentient beings to understand their conflict. He waited patiently. As one who had laid waste to empires, gaining more Life at every touch, he stood now a withered husk barely recognizable as a living creature. Time was on his side. It always was.
In the midst of the heated debate the village champion’s hand carelessly brushed against the face of Death. And with that, the strapping young youth fell, never to rise again. Silence descended upon the tribe, before a distraught cry from the champion’s wife pierced through the frozen air. A frenzied commotion arose. Any doubts they had, now there was none. The villagers quickly set fire to the entire forest and fled.
Death relaxed. Fire licked at his withered feet, and he felt his body slowly turning to crisp. What they did not know, was that the power of the long ago Empire’s gods was not to be burnt. As the fire consumed Death, each and every one of his atoms were released to the world. Winds blew it about, until at long last, death was everywhere. The villagers should mot have rejoiced, for he is not gone, Death did not sleep. He is now a thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on snow. Death to all heathens, death to you all.
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
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"Is death something to fear? Perhaps. Perhaps life is worse. Perhaps death is the story told to rowdy children and life is the monster behind it. Death is a mercy, a gift of finality and eternal peace, a blessing. Some might disagree, maybe those who were cruel in life have nothing to lose. They may simply see death as an obstical to overcome, only to be confronted with the endless labrynth of life once more.
Me? Perhaps I was of man, once. I may have had a partner or a family, or even a friend. They, too, likely feared me. I'm a monster. I bring death yet cannot recieve it myself. My skin is cold and it clings to my bones like a corpse, yet my heart still beats. Perhaps that is why I retrieved this cloak, it shrouds my shriviling body with darkness, so those who view me do not fear me. It's far too tattered to be of use now but they hardly sell cloaks anymore. I've seen kingdoms fall and sea levels rise. In the end, we adapt to survive.
The beings who once grew up beside me had skin of colours from pale paper white to warm copper brown. We had smooth skin with small hairs scattered throughout out bodies, but as land reduced we lost our hair as we swam more. We gained larger lungs and more bouyancy. You, children, have likely swam here. I could never swim, not even if I tried. I'd sink to the bottom like a pile of bones, and even then I couldn't die. I'd stay there as my life ebbs away.
I may be dark, but there is a reason I'm the reaper. Rest now, children, your time is not yet here."
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*sip* "Man this newspaper is getting crazier and crazier"
I take another sip on my freshly made coffee as I read through the newspaper
*Pfft* "wha-what!"
After reading what some of the news about me I can't stop laughing at the hilarious exaggeration of my existence
"Man they better tone that down or I'm gonna get attack by bunch of self proclaimed saint"
I lower my coffee and place it near the window. I began reminiscing about the pass 1000 years, I never thought that humanity will fall and their technology to regress to the point that steam engine is the future of this era and there's haven't even a proper aircraft. The good thing about this life is that I able see the the progress that past human made, a past I dream seeing. I laughed at the ironic situation I'm in, seeing the past by living in the future
"I HAVE COME TO CHALLENGE YOU INTO DUEL FOUL DEMON"
I was suddenly awaken from my deep thoughts by the loud voice of a man
"Man they can't really decided whether they call me a demon or a reaper"
I leisurely walk down to open the door
"IS IT LITTLE BIT EARLY FOR THIS.YOUNG.KNIGHT."
I shouted as he was very far from me, I can't tell if he is cautious or just a coward
"I AM NEITHER YOUNG OR A KNIGHT. I AM A SERVANT OF THE GODS AND HAVE COME TO BANISH YOU FROM THIS SACRED LAND"
"WHATEVER YOU SAY YOUNG DUDE"
"I COME HERE TO VANQUISH YOU. NOT TO LISTEN TO YOUR STRANGE GIBBERISH WORDS"
and this why I hate settling anywhere
"AHH!" the young dude charge at me with his sword.
I of course dodge it easily, I was about to finish this guy off by killing him but no matter how cliche it is. I stop and spared him while still in deep thoughts and reminiscing the past and remembering what that meddlesome girl said
"all creature deserve a chance and so you are"
I can't quite remember her face or the time when we meet but I at least know she was smiling when she said that
"KILL ME FOUL DEMON. I RATHER DIE THAN BE DEFILED BY YOU"
Jeez, this line I never expected to hear by a grown man. Mhm I wonder if the my coffee is still hot
"Get out of here" I said with the most neutral face I can make. The bone in my face become soft after I turn 700 years old allowing me to make expression otherwise impossible to make. Now you think about it how I can still move even though I'm all bone...
"Well at least I know I have a lot of time to figure that out"
As I was about to drink my coffee, I noticed that the sun is about to rise
"It's morning huh" *sip*
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
|
When someone says Super Powers, what’s the first thing you think of? Death by high five probably isn’t it. Flying, invisibility, shapeshifting; that’s the kind of thing you want. The kind of powers that make life easier, fun or more exciting. But I got instant death. You don’t get bad powers they said. We weaned it out in the testing phase they said. But here I am, can’t even high five someone without them dying. And I know what you’re thinking -
“Man, you are really hung up about not being able to high five anymore.”
And you’d be right. Up until me, the worst it got was some dude up in Poland who grew 18 extra arms. Ever wonder how many arms is too many? Turns out anything over about 6 is an absolute chore. If he was still around I bet he’d still be complaining.
Your whole outlook on life changes when you have to learn how not to kill people. I was terrified of living at first, even tried to end it myself a few times before I realised that, ironically, dying was a lot harder now.
I went through a few stages, fear, grief, depression, insanity, sanity, depression, insanity again, sanity (but somehow even more sane than the first time around.) And that was just the first few hundred years. Turns out, when I killed someone, somehow the time they had left transfers to me. More years, more lives(?), I dunno - I know what happens, not how it happens. I tried to be good with it, you know, kill people who shouldn’t be alive - murderers, corrupt politicians etc. I made a steady living at one point as a replacement for the electric chair but it just got a bit… I don’t know, samey? Years flew by in a blur, I have a lot of gaps here and there, I just remember outgrowing everyone. My friends, my family, their kids and so on.
Societies rose and fell, my original one ended so long ago I can’t even tell you. And they always do the same thing, you know? You know how many nuclear apocalypses I’ve been through? Three. At least. Zombies were cool the first two times, now they’re just annoying. The alien invasions were always more fun, at least those are usually somewhat different. You see one or two repeats every now and then but it’s whatever.
And then there’s my face. Just bones now, isn’t it? They didn’t put that on the warning packet did they? And no matter how many times a species rises from the primordial sludge after every extinction event it’s never just walking bones. Robes always work though, super lazy I know but they all come up with it on their own anyway so why even bother.
These current dopes think it’s only year 2000 or something random like that, they always do that, mark the start of time from a god or a shooting star or something. I kid you not, there was this one civilisation that based it around their biggest tree.
I go out, mingle with the populace every now and then. They always have a name for me, a legend. They have this thing called “Television”, it’s kind of a knock off of a Blingledimble but it’s alright. They’ve done some shows about me on that, “The Grim adventures of Billy and Mandy” has been my favourite so far.
They think I’m an angel of death, a mythical figure who decides who lives and who dies. At this point they might even be right. It’s always supernatural. A Spirit. A Demon. An Angel.
A Reaper.
An incredibly bored one anyway.
Edit: Thanks for the Silver! Can’t say how happy I am people like this!
|
*sip* "Man this newspaper is getting crazier and crazier"
I take another sip on my freshly made coffee as I read through the newspaper
*Pfft* "wha-what!"
After reading what some of the news about me I can't stop laughing at the hilarious exaggeration of my existence
"Man they better tone that down or I'm gonna get attack by bunch of self proclaimed saint"
I lower my coffee and place it near the window. I began reminiscing about the pass 1000 years, I never thought that humanity will fall and their technology to regress to the point that steam engine is the future of this era and there's haven't even a proper aircraft. The good thing about this life is that I able see the the progress that past human made, a past I dream seeing. I laughed at the ironic situation I'm in, seeing the past by living in the future
"I HAVE COME TO CHALLENGE YOU INTO DUEL FOUL DEMON"
I was suddenly awaken from my deep thoughts by the loud voice of a man
"Man they can't really decided whether they call me a demon or a reaper"
I leisurely walk down to open the door
"IS IT LITTLE BIT EARLY FOR THIS.YOUNG.KNIGHT."
I shouted as he was very far from me, I can't tell if he is cautious or just a coward
"I AM NEITHER YOUNG OR A KNIGHT. I AM A SERVANT OF THE GODS AND HAVE COME TO BANISH YOU FROM THIS SACRED LAND"
"WHATEVER YOU SAY YOUNG DUDE"
"I COME HERE TO VANQUISH YOU. NOT TO LISTEN TO YOUR STRANGE GIBBERISH WORDS"
and this why I hate settling anywhere
"AHH!" the young dude charge at me with his sword.
I of course dodge it easily, I was about to finish this guy off by killing him but no matter how cliche it is. I stop and spared him while still in deep thoughts and reminiscing the past and remembering what that meddlesome girl said
"all creature deserve a chance and so you are"
I can't quite remember her face or the time when we meet but I at least know she was smiling when she said that
"KILL ME FOUL DEMON. I RATHER DIE THAN BE DEFILED BY YOU"
Jeez, this line I never expected to hear by a grown man. Mhm I wonder if the my coffee is still hot
"Get out of here" I said with the most neutral face I can make. The bone in my face become soft after I turn 700 years old allowing me to make expression otherwise impossible to make. Now you think about it how I can still move even though I'm all bone...
"Well at least I know I have a lot of time to figure that out"
As I was about to drink my coffee, I noticed that the sun is about to rise
"It's morning huh" *sip*
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
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When someone says Super Powers, what’s the first thing you think of? Death by high five probably isn’t it. Flying, invisibility, shapeshifting; that’s the kind of thing you want. The kind of powers that make life easier, fun or more exciting. But I got instant death. You don’t get bad powers they said. We weaned it out in the testing phase they said. But here I am, can’t even high five someone without them dying. And I know what you’re thinking -
“Man, you are really hung up about not being able to high five anymore.”
And you’d be right. Up until me, the worst it got was some dude up in Poland who grew 18 extra arms. Ever wonder how many arms is too many? Turns out anything over about 6 is an absolute chore. If he was still around I bet he’d still be complaining.
Your whole outlook on life changes when you have to learn how not to kill people. I was terrified of living at first, even tried to end it myself a few times before I realised that, ironically, dying was a lot harder now.
I went through a few stages, fear, grief, depression, insanity, sanity, depression, insanity again, sanity (but somehow even more sane than the first time around.) And that was just the first few hundred years. Turns out, when I killed someone, somehow the time they had left transfers to me. More years, more lives(?), I dunno - I know what happens, not how it happens. I tried to be good with it, you know, kill people who shouldn’t be alive - murderers, corrupt politicians etc. I made a steady living at one point as a replacement for the electric chair but it just got a bit… I don’t know, samey? Years flew by in a blur, I have a lot of gaps here and there, I just remember outgrowing everyone. My friends, my family, their kids and so on.
Societies rose and fell, my original one ended so long ago I can’t even tell you. And they always do the same thing, you know? You know how many nuclear apocalypses I’ve been through? Three. At least. Zombies were cool the first two times, now they’re just annoying. The alien invasions were always more fun, at least those are usually somewhat different. You see one or two repeats every now and then but it’s whatever.
And then there’s my face. Just bones now, isn’t it? They didn’t put that on the warning packet did they? And no matter how many times a species rises from the primordial sludge after every extinction event it’s never just walking bones. Robes always work though, super lazy I know but they all come up with it on their own anyway so why even bother.
These current dopes think it’s only year 2000 or something random like that, they always do that, mark the start of time from a god or a shooting star or something. I kid you not, there was this one civilisation that based it around their biggest tree.
I go out, mingle with the populace every now and then. They always have a name for me, a legend. They have this thing called “Television”, it’s kind of a knock off of a Blingledimble but it’s alright. They’ve done some shows about me on that, “The Grim adventures of Billy and Mandy” has been my favourite so far.
They think I’m an angel of death, a mythical figure who decides who lives and who dies. At this point they might even be right. It’s always supernatural. A Spirit. A Demon. An Angel.
A Reaper.
An incredibly bored one anyway.
Edit: Thanks for the Silver! Can’t say how happy I am people like this!
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"Is death something to fear? Perhaps. Perhaps life is worse. Perhaps death is the story told to rowdy children and life is the monster behind it. Death is a mercy, a gift of finality and eternal peace, a blessing. Some might disagree, maybe those who were cruel in life have nothing to lose. They may simply see death as an obstical to overcome, only to be confronted with the endless labrynth of life once more.
Me? Perhaps I was of man, once. I may have had a partner or a family, or even a friend. They, too, likely feared me. I'm a monster. I bring death yet cannot recieve it myself. My skin is cold and it clings to my bones like a corpse, yet my heart still beats. Perhaps that is why I retrieved this cloak, it shrouds my shriviling body with darkness, so those who view me do not fear me. It's far too tattered to be of use now but they hardly sell cloaks anymore. I've seen kingdoms fall and sea levels rise. In the end, we adapt to survive.
The beings who once grew up beside me had skin of colours from pale paper white to warm copper brown. We had smooth skin with small hairs scattered throughout out bodies, but as land reduced we lost our hair as we swam more. We gained larger lungs and more bouyancy. You, children, have likely swam here. I could never swim, not even if I tried. I'd sink to the bottom like a pile of bones, and even then I couldn't die. I'd stay there as my life ebbs away.
I may be dark, but there is a reason I'm the reaper. Rest now, children, your time is not yet here."
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
|
When someone says Super Powers, what’s the first thing you think of? Death by high five probably isn’t it. Flying, invisibility, shapeshifting; that’s the kind of thing you want. The kind of powers that make life easier, fun or more exciting. But I got instant death. You don’t get bad powers they said. We weaned it out in the testing phase they said. But here I am, can’t even high five someone without them dying. And I know what you’re thinking -
“Man, you are really hung up about not being able to high five anymore.”
And you’d be right. Up until me, the worst it got was some dude up in Poland who grew 18 extra arms. Ever wonder how many arms is too many? Turns out anything over about 6 is an absolute chore. If he was still around I bet he’d still be complaining.
Your whole outlook on life changes when you have to learn how not to kill people. I was terrified of living at first, even tried to end it myself a few times before I realised that, ironically, dying was a lot harder now.
I went through a few stages, fear, grief, depression, insanity, sanity, depression, insanity again, sanity (but somehow even more sane than the first time around.) And that was just the first few hundred years. Turns out, when I killed someone, somehow the time they had left transfers to me. More years, more lives(?), I dunno - I know what happens, not how it happens. I tried to be good with it, you know, kill people who shouldn’t be alive - murderers, corrupt politicians etc. I made a steady living at one point as a replacement for the electric chair but it just got a bit… I don’t know, samey? Years flew by in a blur, I have a lot of gaps here and there, I just remember outgrowing everyone. My friends, my family, their kids and so on.
Societies rose and fell, my original one ended so long ago I can’t even tell you. And they always do the same thing, you know? You know how many nuclear apocalypses I’ve been through? Three. At least. Zombies were cool the first two times, now they’re just annoying. The alien invasions were always more fun, at least those are usually somewhat different. You see one or two repeats every now and then but it’s whatever.
And then there’s my face. Just bones now, isn’t it? They didn’t put that on the warning packet did they? And no matter how many times a species rises from the primordial sludge after every extinction event it’s never just walking bones. Robes always work though, super lazy I know but they all come up with it on their own anyway so why even bother.
These current dopes think it’s only year 2000 or something random like that, they always do that, mark the start of time from a god or a shooting star or something. I kid you not, there was this one civilisation that based it around their biggest tree.
I go out, mingle with the populace every now and then. They always have a name for me, a legend. They have this thing called “Television”, it’s kind of a knock off of a Blingledimble but it’s alright. They’ve done some shows about me on that, “The Grim adventures of Billy and Mandy” has been my favourite so far.
They think I’m an angel of death, a mythical figure who decides who lives and who dies. At this point they might even be right. It’s always supernatural. A Spirit. A Demon. An Angel.
A Reaper.
An incredibly bored one anyway.
Edit: Thanks for the Silver! Can’t say how happy I am people like this!
|
EDIT: This took a slightly different path, so I just went with it.
I was only 16 years old old when I received my Extreme Mizer 6000.
They said it could give you superpowers. I just thought it might impress this girl that I had a crush on. After all, nobody I knew had ever seen such a thing. I figured it was something like Seamonkey’s. just a gag that you buy out of the back of the comic book.
That was way back in ‘88. 1988, that is. It is now 3088. I haven’t seen a single soul in this desert of a world in the past 500 years.
Turns out, I did develop superpowers. Just not the type of superpowers that you would really want. My power, was death. Everything I touch died. I couldn’t even lay fresh flowers on my mothers grave. They withered in my hands.
I couldn’t even drink milk. It was sour and disgusting the moment it touched my lips. Steak turned rotten and maggot filled. Even drinking soda was flat and tasteless. But, you get used to it.
The thing that I did not expect, was this was as old as I was going to get. You see, everything that I killed, extended my life.
One time, I made it an entire hundred years without touching anything. I didn’t have to eat or drink or sleep. It didn’t matter. Then I sat on a tortoise. That probably gave me another hundred and fifty years.
Nothing can kill me. Trust me, I tried. I have leapt off cliffs, been eaten by sharks, bled out, exploded, imploded (don’t ask), been run over, crushed, maimed, and drowned. Except it didn’t matter. The life force that my Mida’s touch granted me kept me coming back together.
I can’t even remember that girl’s name now. Or mine for that matter. Damn. Oh well. There isn’t anyone here for me to tell it to. I killed them all. At least the next few million years will be quiet ones.
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[WP] Technological advances led to super powers. Yours is a killing touch. What you didn’t know is that every death added their lifespan to yours but you continue to age. You watched society fall. Now 1000s of years old, your withered husk is feared by the newly emerging “man”. They fear the Reaper.
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They all fear me-- me, who had risen to the top of the food chain. This power I gained a long time ago, the power of death touch-- I thought it would lead me to be the best of them all...I was right. I decimated those who stood before me, those who dared oppose me. I was drunk with power, my thirst, my pride-- I was King Midas and death was my precious gold.
But as centuries went by, I realized it was all for naught. I drove kingdoms to dust, empires to ruins, civilizations to nothing...but for what? What use is a king to a crumbling world? I wasn't remembered, as there's nobody to remember me.
On the remains of the planet I swept laid endless desert where life used to be. I wandered around aimlessly, becoming a myth, a symbol of desolation as I brought death to everywhere I go. The image of my hooded figure-- an attire I chose so nobody could no longer see the shame in my face, had been imbued to the DNA of every living being that was lucky enough not to be born during my rampage.
I had forgotten what it feels to touch anything living. I had forgotten the warmth of a hug, a soft and furry pat of an animal, tickling grass beneath my feet-- the smallest thing that I had missed in search of the ultimate power now became the greatest regret in my existence.
I had become Death...destroyer of worlds.
///
The sun finally set on that day. The light slowly dimmed, vanishing below the horizon. Like usual I had walked across the endless wasteland, in silence contemplating my prolonged existence, regretting the choice I made a long time ago that led me to that moment in my unnaturally long life.
"Why, oh why...?", I muttered over and over again in my mind.
Hmm? What's that sound? A beautiful ringing tone-- oh I remember...it was music. Having been too long not hearing anything it drew me near.
Light of a flame I could see in a distance. Slowly I approached and I saw sitting by a bonfire, it was a man. His back was facing me and on his lap sat an instrument...a wooden stringed instrument which he played so beautifully.
I paused, not wanting to scare him away I listened in silent behind him. He hummed softly to the tune, enjoying the warmth of fire, a little oasis of comfort in the midst of the cold and dark evening.
After a few minutes he finished his song. Having been so long, too long, I was moved to tears by something so inherently simple yet I found so beautiful. Without thinking I clapped my hand in appreciation which startled him as he turned back to face me.
"Whoa! You scared me there, friend", the man chuckled. I could see then, illuminated by the flame that he was a much older man. A descendant of the survivors of the old era I presumed.
"I'm...sorry", I croaked, surprised at my own voice as I haven't heard it in a few millennia. Quickly I turned to flee but his soft laugh urged me to stop.
"Oh hey, it's fine. Come, sit with me. I can use the company", he said
I turned to see his cheery face, his warm and welcoming smile. I was shocked...he wasn't afraid of me.
Slowly I made my way to the fire, sitting not that far beside him, though due to my fear of touching him I distanced myself.
"Would you care for a drink?", the old man offered.
"I...no thanks. I'm not thirsty", I said, speaking the truth. I haven't been hungry, thirsty, nor sleepy for the last few millennia-- culmination of health of billions of people.
"More for me then", he chuckled sipping his drink.
As he did so, he returned to play his music again without any care for me. I was perplexed to say the least, all that I've encountered, all of them ran away from me in fear. But this man...this man enjoyed my company, the grim reaper.
"I'm...sorry", I finally spoke up, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
The old man stopped his music and turned to me.
"Yes?"
"I...do you know who, what I am?", I asked.
The old man looked at me for a second, and he shrugged.
"Of course I do. You're the reaper", he answered.
His nonchalance stumped me.
"Wha...are you not afraid of me?", I asked.
"Afraid? Oh no, of course not. I knew a long time ago my time would come. Sooner or later you would come for me. It's just my time already, you know. There's no point in running away from the inevitable right?", the man smiled.
"I have lived for too long, I think", the old man continued. "Now I'd just like to enjoy what time I have left, not living it in fear of the end instead welcoming it. In fact, I'd like to welcome you as a friend"
This was...different. This new breed of men was different than what I've encountered a long time ago.
"I...I'd love that", I muttered, not realizing a smile had formed in my face under my hood. This was new, this feeling. This feeling of acceptance, happiness...it's been too long, but in that moment I felt happy.
Hours went by as we sat there. Often we chat of life, some other time the old man would play his music and I would listen. Those mere hours were brief in comparison to my lifespan, but it was one I would never forget.
Hours passed the early morning as the sun peeked from the horizon, signaling a new day ahead of us.
"Thank you, my friend. Thank you for having me", I sincerely said as I stood. "But I must continue on my journey"
The old man looked at me stern. "So it's finally time eh? I'm ready...", he closed his eyes. "Take my life"
I was perplexed for a second, forgetting that to him I was his end-- but calmly I assured him that it wasn't the case. "It's not your time yet. But when it is, I would surely come back...as an old friend"
The old man opened his eyes and he sighed of relief. "I'd love that", he returned the gesture to me.
I nodded and turned to the vast desert, continuing my journey to nowhere.
"Hey I have an idea for a song, a song about you", the old man said, stopping me on my tracks. "Tell me what you think about this..."
He began to play and I stood there listening. My, what musical and lyrical prowess he possessed, being able to do it on a whim like that.
After a few minutes of improvisation on his part, he stopped and turned to me.
"What do you think?", he smiled.
I nodded and clapped. "I love it"
The man laughed heartily and bid me adieu. I walked on for a few steps before stopping, an idea struck me from a memory long gone.
"You know, it could be improved, that song...", I offered him an advice.
"Oh yeah? How?", he replied.
"It could use a bit more cowbell"
r/HangryWritey
Edit: fixed a sentence and a word
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I was a man once, perhaps.
Life clings barely, sagging skin to bleached bone--and yet, my heart beats. Not at the prospect of more life, but at the temptation of dealing death.
There was no pleasure in the job, but it was a necessary one. I no longer lived, and I will never die, but that makes me uniquely equipped to be the final beacon of death.
Man's conceit laid in their vitality. I was foolish, once. I thought immortality made me better, gave me endless time to do right and wrong, to go left and right.
I did them all, only to realize I missed death.
It was the end of all things that made things worth doing. Time was worth spending because it was finite.
And so, I continue to bring death. The next man is a new-fangled being. The fear of death was not yet instilled.
There was no pleasure. There was only time to reap what they sowed.
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] You are a completely normal guy with a superhero girlfriend. You know it's a dangerous line of work so you go out of your way to avoid it. You never run into danger to help. You never get involved with investigations. You both just treat it like your girlfriend's day job. Tonight is date night.
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Is it easy dating Electragirl?
No, absolutely not.
Is it worth it?
Well ….
I usually do everything I can not to get in her way. I drive 10 miles under the speed limit. I avoid big crowds and tall buildings and long bridges. I specifically chose to take a job in manufacturing logistics at a company that makes chairs, the most boring thing I can think to do.
I wear a disguise when we go out, just like she does. I take all the precautions so I don’t become a causality in this relationship (her last guy was turned into a ferret by a super intelligent squid with a ray gun, don’t even get me started on that) and so I don’t distract her from her work.
So yeah, in my very weakest moments I’m tempted to think that it doesn’t feel worth it, everything I’ve done and given up. But, I mean, let’s face it - she’s saving the world. It’s not like I have a leg to stand on with my own problems.
And I love her, that’s the thing. I love this girl for the supernatural treasure she is. And I guess that’s all that really matters.
But I digress.
Tonight is our five year anniversary, and I’ve really gone all out for it. Flowers, suit, dinner at the fanciest restaurant in the city, diamond ring in my pocket.
If I play my cards right, I will be the future Mr. Electragirl by the end of the evening.
I stop by her place to pick her up, and you could knock me down with a feather. She’s beautiful, all dark hair and deep brown skin and a body that is truly electric tucked into that curve-hugging red dress. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
We get to the restaurant and it’s going great. We’re laughing and talking like normal people, we’ve even gone light on the incognito thing tonight - just a pair of horn rimmed glasses for her and a fake beard for me - I’m glad we look at least something like ourselves. We talk about our families and the next vacation we want to take and everything in the world except the things that always come between us. She’s full of energy and talking with her hands, her laugh is enough to make even the people at the table next to us smile, and she’s just more alive than any person I’ve ever met.
We’re sitting out on the terrace underneath the clear night sky and she’s glowing from the strings of lights hanging above us and I know, I just know that I’d face down every villain in the universe if it meant I got to be here in this moment with her.
Just after the waiter has refilled our champagne, I reach a hand into my pocket.
And right as I’m about to start the speech I’ve been working on for two weeks, the first car alarm starts going off.
It’s a fluke, it has to be a fluke. I clear my throat as I wait for the idiot who hit the wrong button on their key fob to turn it off, but a few seconds later it’s joined by another, and another, and suddenly the streetlights outside the restaurant flicker into darkness. A moment later, the top of a skyscraper a block away bursts into flame and the shockwaves hit us a few seconds after that.
“Babe,” she says, looking up from the last of her tiramisu. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, I get it,” I say, reaching out and squeezing her hand, the ring all but forgotten. “Are you going to be ok? I can get home on my own.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I know she will be. She always is.
With that, she’s tearing the front of that red dress right down the middle, the spandex of her super suit unfurling beneath it. She leans across the table to kiss me, and then she’s gone in a crackle of static and a pop of light.
Man, I really do love this girl. It’ll never be easy, but I love her.
|
We went out to dinner and she went to use the bathroom, that’s when a girl in an olive green dress walks up to our table and attempts to talk to me. This is when everything gets hazy so I’ll let my super cute super hero girl friend tell you the rest of the story.
“Your such a dork ya know that”
Anyway after I come out of the bathroom is when I see him walking away with this girl, I was furious but for a different reason than you think. The last thing he’d do is just ditch me like that, that isn’t like him. So I trail behind them to confirm my suspicions, that was Cupid one my regular villains. His main power is control people with his love power, and he can even shift his shape into a figure most attractive to the individual. The reason he didn’t turn into me? Good question, in any case I was worried and upset that Cupid would go so far as to mess with my boyfriend, so I hid and transformed and went to look for him.
I didn’t really have to many leads but I noticed that Cupid seemed to have left a trail for me, it was way to obvious. I went into the sky and used my supervision to see where the trail lead to, it lead to a wear house. “Of course it’s a wear house it’s always in wear houses do something original Cupid,” I went to the wear house to see my boyfriend knocked out and TIED TO A FRIGGIN BOMB. I didn’t see Cupid anywhere but this all felt way to obvious, and I wasn’t going to try and sneak in a untie him when this was obviously a setup, rookie mistake. Instead I opened up the window slightly and used my laser eyes to quickly and ever so carefully diffuse the bomb. I noticed a lot of crates around and after using my ex-ray vision confirmed they all had nock out gas, more bombs, and Cupid and his goons were hiding in some of them ready with gas masks, I got the plan now.
I decided to play along with there little scheme, I bust in through the roof and shouted “where’s my boyfriend, Cupid!” I heard his laughter coming from his little hiding place, “well let’s see where he’ll go when I do this, he pressed a button, nothing happened. He kept pressing the button while I just walked up to my boyfriend, untied him and was beginning to leave, “WAIT” Cupid screamed as he pressed a different button that was set to all the other explosives, “there’s my cue.” I jumped up as fast as I could and placed a force field around it to contain the explosion, when all the smoke and gas cleared I check the damage all of Cupid’s goons were still there but no Cupid, just a card with an arrow going through a broken heart, aka Cupid’s calling card. “Damn it, next Cupid” I contacted the police and flew away with boyfriend to take him home.
“not one of our top ten best dates huh?”
“Heh you could say that again”
I flew my boyfriend home he was still out cold, I rang the doorbell and his mom answered, and took one good look us and knew that whole story.
“Date go wrong?”
“Yeah”
“Villains attack him this time?”
“Yeah”
“Put him to bed and let you tell him tomorrow?”
“Yes please”
“Would you like some tea?”
“ALWAYS!”
And that’s basically the story, and even when crazy stuff like this happens we still love each other. Because there’s nothing cooler than dating a superhero!
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[WP] You have spent the last several thousand years trapped in a cell at the bottom of an old temple built by a long forgotten city-state, alone; so it's a surprise when a team of explorers accidentally dig into the chamber.
|
*You split the walls of ten-thick stone and pierced the dark with the first sunlight I had seen in centuries. I heard you call to each other.*
“Hey Mike, come take a look at this.”
“The fuck is it now? Why you-...stopping. What is this place?”
*I listened to your voices and puzzled out the sound of your tongues. How strange. My ears had forgotten.*
*Soon enough, the two of you crossed the threshold. You sparked your crimson torches, only to toss them down about the room, flaring like devil’s candles. I didn’t need them, but the wasteful don’t survive as long as I have.*
“No way, Mike, check it out! There’s a mummy over here.”
“They don’t got mummies in Queens, dumbass. That’s just a dead guy.”
“Whatever man, it’s a old raisiny dead motherfucker. Look it’s got bandages and shit.”
“Hey. Don’t touch, alright. Dead bodies got germs.”
“Pshhh the fuck you talkin bout? This guys been dead so long even his germs are dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry *doctor Nicky*, what med school did you go to again? Come on, this place just keeps going. This way.”
“Ok, ok, I’m right behind ya, one second.”
*One of you lingered near me. I hadn’t moved for so long. I hadn’t needed to. I tried to remember how...*
. . .
“Nicky, come on! What are you-...Jesus, fuck. Nicky, what are you doing? You can’t burn a dead body just cuz you found it. Get that flare out it’s face.”
*I hadn’t been able to move into him. I was too slow, after sleeping so long. It had been a struggle just to kill him. I turned to the other one. Mike. I saw his expression change from disgust to terror as he saw me clearly. He would do.*
. . .
“Hey Mike, what’s the hold up down there? You and Nicky fall asleep? Mike?”
*I’m much faster in Mike’s body. My thoughts are coming faster now too. This new one struggles but I pin him to the wall by his throat. I am strong again. I could kill him, but he smells healthier than Mike. I don’t need to move into him, but the wasteful don’t survive as long as I have...*
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it was a blue morning. guards were getting out of their rooms for the shift change. the good looking guard at the tower closest to mine was climbing down and did a few pullups on the last rung of the ladder before taking a piss a few meters away from where i was hiding. as per routine he took off his clothes and took a plunge into the lake for his morning bath. i wait for the perfect moment and take his metal helmet and chestplate to complete my disguise.it is a lazy morning and the guards pay no attention to me. i cant believe this worked!how could it have been as simple i had dreamed. surely someone will raise alarm.
i make my way to the preists cabin and his daughter hands me the keys. we are so close. she hands me a glass of milk but i am too worried to be thirsty right now. now is not the time for refreshments. now is the time to loot.leaving the priests quarters was trickier than i expected. priests are generally morning people and as despicable that is, it means that the people around them are morning people too. that means that apart from acting like this is my daily routing i also have to make conversations.i make it to the chambers of many rooms and this is where things get tricky. there are many rooms on this floor and only one of them have the real gold ornaments and the inheritance of the priests entire lineage. who knew that priests are secretly blasphemous like that. i wouldnt desecrate my prayer room with old gold wire underwears and and all that.to enter the right room out of the 14 odd rooms in this hall is tricky. i dont know what is behind the other doors. my sweetheart dont know, only the priest know. so i get all my weapons and tools ready and take a deep breath and try my luck at the door at the end of the hall. i push open the door just a wee bit and take A sneak peek with stick and a mirror and a lamp. whatever is at the other side of that door is surely inanimate since the room is so cold. it seems like there is giant necklace fitting of a grand statue. but i cant be sure if there are any traps. there is a ventilation here so there must be a way out too. thankfully i have packed for many nights. i close the door behind me and begin to break down the necklace.my sweetheart comes down in a few minutes and kisses me goodnight and this is the first of my 14 days of loot. i plan to break down the riches and smuggle little by little out through my sweetheart and if suspicion arises she will simply stop coming here and i have to survive with what little i have. its tough but atleast its a plan. most thieves would do anything to avoid being patient.in 3 days i was able to break the 2 meter gold ornament for the giant stone deity, only to be used on the day it is to be worshipped. until then it wears the bronze fake ornament.
day 5 and she has stopped coming down so i continue breaking the gold chains and start cutting the gold from the stone deity.
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[WP] You have spent the last several thousand years trapped in a cell at the bottom of an old temple built by a long forgotten city-state, alone; so it's a surprise when a team of explorers accidentally dig into the chamber.
|
Cronos slumbered in the deep, unbothered by Time. To Him, an aeon was as the breadth of an eyelash and a second might span the Universe, so He was somewhat disoriented when a loud crumbling of stone and a slight cave-in echoed through His ceremonial chamber. Several ant-like man things scrambled in through a *hole* in the sacred stone.
His contemplations falling in ruins about Him, Cronos pierced the first of the man things with an inscrutable eternal Eye. "I beg your pardon," He rumbled. "This is a private party."
The man things froze, staring up at the Idol of Cronos, the long-lost and storied object of a thousand futile expeditions. They had come upon it at last. An awkward silence prevailed as the Idol bent Its monstrous head down to glare at each of them personally.
"Erm. We beg your pardon?" choked the leader of the expedition. The sudden movement of the Idol had come as an unpleasant surprise.
"You are not excused," the Idol thundered. "Do you think I live in a thousand foot Pit beyond all reaches of Time in order that a load of tiny delving idiots may crash into my sacred contemplations? Eh?"
"We're terribly sorry--" another adventurer began, only to fall silent as the Eye of Cronos turned balefully upon him.
"Sorry? Sorry?" The Idol squinted at the man things. It nearly gnashed Its teeth in frustration. "Puny man things, I will have you know that I am the God of Trackless Time and I *resent the intrusion."*
"But--but--" stammered the expeditioners.
"Remove yourselves from my Sight," commanded Cronos, turning Its ponderous back on the party.
The expeditioners hesitated. Cronos cleared Its throat mightily, causing them all to jump and scamper back into the tunnel whence they had come.
Cronos stuffed a boulder irritably into the opening.
"Damn," he griped. "Where was I?"
The Eye of Cronos closed slowly as the God of Trackless Time drifted back into peaceful meditation.
|
it was a blue morning. guards were getting out of their rooms for the shift change. the good looking guard at the tower closest to mine was climbing down and did a few pullups on the last rung of the ladder before taking a piss a few meters away from where i was hiding. as per routine he took off his clothes and took a plunge into the lake for his morning bath. i wait for the perfect moment and take his metal helmet and chestplate to complete my disguise.it is a lazy morning and the guards pay no attention to me. i cant believe this worked!how could it have been as simple i had dreamed. surely someone will raise alarm.
i make my way to the preists cabin and his daughter hands me the keys. we are so close. she hands me a glass of milk but i am too worried to be thirsty right now. now is not the time for refreshments. now is the time to loot.leaving the priests quarters was trickier than i expected. priests are generally morning people and as despicable that is, it means that the people around them are morning people too. that means that apart from acting like this is my daily routing i also have to make conversations.i make it to the chambers of many rooms and this is where things get tricky. there are many rooms on this floor and only one of them have the real gold ornaments and the inheritance of the priests entire lineage. who knew that priests are secretly blasphemous like that. i wouldnt desecrate my prayer room with old gold wire underwears and and all that.to enter the right room out of the 14 odd rooms in this hall is tricky. i dont know what is behind the other doors. my sweetheart dont know, only the priest know. so i get all my weapons and tools ready and take a deep breath and try my luck at the door at the end of the hall. i push open the door just a wee bit and take A sneak peek with stick and a mirror and a lamp. whatever is at the other side of that door is surely inanimate since the room is so cold. it seems like there is giant necklace fitting of a grand statue. but i cant be sure if there are any traps. there is a ventilation here so there must be a way out too. thankfully i have packed for many nights. i close the door behind me and begin to break down the necklace.my sweetheart comes down in a few minutes and kisses me goodnight and this is the first of my 14 days of loot. i plan to break down the riches and smuggle little by little out through my sweetheart and if suspicion arises she will simply stop coming here and i have to survive with what little i have. its tough but atleast its a plan. most thieves would do anything to avoid being patient.in 3 days i was able to break the 2 meter gold ornament for the giant stone deity, only to be used on the day it is to be worshipped. until then it wears the bronze fake ornament.
day 5 and she has stopped coming down so i continue breaking the gold chains and start cutting the gold from the stone deity.
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[WP] You have spent the last several thousand years trapped in a cell at the bottom of an old temple built by a long forgotten city-state, alone; so it's a surprise when a team of explorers accidentally dig into the chamber.
|
I didn't know anything but the sight of darkness and the feeling of stone. Hunger, thirst and insanity were as familiar to me as the bricks lining the walls. One thousand two hundred and forty one of them. Each given names. Each name forgotten. Each cycle repeated thousands of times. I was a part of this room, and in a sense, this room was a part of me.
But I hadn't heard that noise before.
It was muffled and somewhat rhythmic. A similar sound to my ring hitting the ground. And it was getting louder. So loud... I couldn't remember hearing anything but the quiet noise of my feet against the bricks.
And then there was the blinding light.
At first, a small sliver. But it grew, and the bricks around it started crumbling, letting more of it in. All I could do was shield my eyes.
"Goodness! Who are you? Are you okay?"
It was a familiar sound. I thought it was related to me somehow, perhaps from a time I couldn't remember. I tried to respond in kind, but there was nothing.
"Don't worry! We'll get you out in a jiffy!"
Whatever it was sounded worried, and the rhythmic clang quickened. It was only when I covered my ears that I got a view of the creature. It had the same shape as me, but its hair was shorter, and it was covered in a variety of mysterious material. It was holding two objects, one a weapon of sorts that produced that deafening sound, and the other producing that blinding light.
And then I saw my hand. My arms. My legs and feet huddled close to my body. This was me. And this creature was like me, albeit less pale.
"How'd you even get trapped in here in the first place?" another voice asked. It sounded higher-pitched than the first.
Trapped... Imprisoned... A vague memory started appearing in my mind. Not about the bricks in this room, or about dropping my ring and finding it in the dark. A memory from a time before.
"Who would leave a beauty like you in here?" the first voice asked.
The memory became clearer. Faces... angry ones. Stone scraping against my legs and knees. The sound of screaming, and cheering. And a name...
The first figure crawled through the opening. They approached me and extended their hand, giving a much friendlier face than the ones in the deep corners of my mind. I gingerly touched their hand, and they quickly pulled me up. With a flash of confidence, they told me, "Don't worry, we'll help you escape."
Escape... There was a reason I was here, and a reason I couldn't leave. I just needed to put the puzzle pieces together.
The second figure pulled the first one back into the hole they created. I reached out my hand towards them, and I was pulled up as well. I looked towards the corridor before me, bathed in dim light from the instrument the first one was holding. It was familiar to me somehow, despite being outside the room I had been trapped in for so long. And it gave me fear. I felt like something bad would happen if I continued through it.
And then I remembered.
\--==+==--
The mysterious girl screamed. The sudden noise was deafening, and when I got my wits about me, the girl had started begging us to stop saving her! Why would anyone *want* to be trapped in a room 50 feet underground?
"Stop screaming! What's wrong?!" my colleague asked her. She was always much quicker on the draw when it came to these sorts of things.
And what came next was the most outlandish story I had ever heard. This girl had apparently betrayed the ancient Greek Gods in some way, and as retribution, they had given her immortality, but trapped her in this chamber for eternity. And to prevent escape, they would exact a number of curses on mankind if she ever left.
It only took one look between me and my colleague to determine that this girl wasn't in her right mind. Whether due to starvation, thirst, or something else, she had gone completely insane. But, my partner continued trying to calm her down:
"Stop! Calm down! ...What did you say your name was?"
Although she was sobbing, the girl said her name clearly enough to be heard by the both of us.
"Pandora? That's an interesting name." I remarked. My colleague took a moment to think, before looking at me.
"You think she's referring to that old myth? Pandora's Box?"
I merely shrugged. "That's probably the best bet, but she's got the story all wrong. She probably just went crazy. Let's get her to a hospital."
My partner nodded solemnly, and while the mysterious girl screamed, insisting that she was right, we just dragged her down the corridor. We hoped that she'd eventually be okay.
|
it was a blue morning. guards were getting out of their rooms for the shift change. the good looking guard at the tower closest to mine was climbing down and did a few pullups on the last rung of the ladder before taking a piss a few meters away from where i was hiding. as per routine he took off his clothes and took a plunge into the lake for his morning bath. i wait for the perfect moment and take his metal helmet and chestplate to complete my disguise.it is a lazy morning and the guards pay no attention to me. i cant believe this worked!how could it have been as simple i had dreamed. surely someone will raise alarm.
i make my way to the preists cabin and his daughter hands me the keys. we are so close. she hands me a glass of milk but i am too worried to be thirsty right now. now is not the time for refreshments. now is the time to loot.leaving the priests quarters was trickier than i expected. priests are generally morning people and as despicable that is, it means that the people around them are morning people too. that means that apart from acting like this is my daily routing i also have to make conversations.i make it to the chambers of many rooms and this is where things get tricky. there are many rooms on this floor and only one of them have the real gold ornaments and the inheritance of the priests entire lineage. who knew that priests are secretly blasphemous like that. i wouldnt desecrate my prayer room with old gold wire underwears and and all that.to enter the right room out of the 14 odd rooms in this hall is tricky. i dont know what is behind the other doors. my sweetheart dont know, only the priest know. so i get all my weapons and tools ready and take a deep breath and try my luck at the door at the end of the hall. i push open the door just a wee bit and take A sneak peek with stick and a mirror and a lamp. whatever is at the other side of that door is surely inanimate since the room is so cold. it seems like there is giant necklace fitting of a grand statue. but i cant be sure if there are any traps. there is a ventilation here so there must be a way out too. thankfully i have packed for many nights. i close the door behind me and begin to break down the necklace.my sweetheart comes down in a few minutes and kisses me goodnight and this is the first of my 14 days of loot. i plan to break down the riches and smuggle little by little out through my sweetheart and if suspicion arises she will simply stop coming here and i have to survive with what little i have. its tough but atleast its a plan. most thieves would do anything to avoid being patient.in 3 days i was able to break the 2 meter gold ornament for the giant stone deity, only to be used on the day it is to be worshipped. until then it wears the bronze fake ornament.
day 5 and she has stopped coming down so i continue breaking the gold chains and start cutting the gold from the stone deity.
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[WP] You have spent the last several thousand years trapped in a cell at the bottom of an old temple built by a long forgotten city-state, alone; so it's a surprise when a team of explorers accidentally dig into the chamber.
|
The musty odor of the hall changed perceptibly. A fresh dusty smell entered the room. I hadn't smelled dust, fresh dust in years, but the sense of it being dust felt embedded in some primitive part of my brain. It was a disturbance and had to be investigated. So I walked in the direction where the smell was the strongest.
Light entered through the ceiling at one place in the hall. A rope was suspended from a hole in the ceiling, and two men stood under the hole while another climbed down the rope.
Unexpected visitors. Their robes didn't have any breathing room and were rather tightly tailored, and in their hands were torches that glowed without fire.
"Hello, gentlemen," I shouted in greeting.
By now, the third man had descended from the rope, and they all looked towards me.
"What's that?"
"Is it a skeleton?"
"Did you hear something?"
A peculiar bunch, they were more interested in talking to each other. So much so for being a welcoming host.
"Hello, gentlemen," I shouted louder.
"...Hello?" The fattest of them replied.
"What business are you on?"
The tallest of them muttered to the others. "You heard that?"
"Yeah," said the third, bespectacled man. "Did they send anyone before us?"
"Who are you?" the fat one shouted.
"The guardian of the halls," I said. "The halls under the temple, that is."
"Yeah, I can see that," the fat one replied.
"Who the hell is it? Is it that skeleton you saw earlier?" the tall one said to his bespectacled companion.
"Oh, scary. You got me, yay. Stop with the games; we're on a mission here."
"Can you show yourself?" the fat man shouted.
"Sunlight. I can't. I haven't seen the sun in a long time, and I'm afraid I will faint in its presence. Walk towards the path your torches are pointed. Thirty paces and you shall find me."
The whole thing was terribly exciting. It isn't proper for a guardian to invite people in, but I was lonely and somewhat depressed.
The fat man and the tall man came towards me while their friend remained behind. These were clever folk. And their flameless torches were bright, but the gentlemen jumped when the light hit my body.
"A ghost!"
"A mummy!"
"No, sirs. I am Hinrd, the treasurer and the guardian of the hall," I said and bowed. Politeness, the priest told me long back, makes people feel comfortable.
But my visitors, they fled. They ran to their rope in the hole and climbed back up. I didn't even get to ask them if they knew about the treasure and had come to rob it. I guess it was my own fault, dilly-dallying like that.
I didn't perform my duty well. Protocol has to be followed by a guardian, and that I did not do. I wonder how much time will pass before an opportunity for redemption presents itself. I hope they come back.
|
Fran could hear the argument from down the passage. Mick's voice was high, blistering with emotion while Eric's baritone rumble gave a tempering undertone. Fran stooped, and began to duck walk down the passage pulling her satchel through the loose dirt behind her. They were underneath the passage proper, having been forced to dig beneath the foundation of it to get through. There was a lever-loaded release *somewhere* in the ornate carvings of that passage which their engineer judged would open the ceiling and bury the structure in sand. So, they'd cut out a section of the ceiling and dug beneath it. She saw the flickering light around the corner and pushed herself through. The room was small, cylindrical, etched with an unique cuneiform alphabet. On the floor was a round stone- no, not stone, she realized; bands of rust etched the object! It was a huge piece of slag iron roughly formed and etched with still more of the archaic forms. It had been moved a scant few inches over, revealing the black mouth of an oubliette. Mick was curled beside it, Eric crouched over him toweling his head.
"I'm *not* fucking crazy. I told you, I saw what I saw and you need..." Mick had not calmed down.
"No one is saying you're crazy, I just think it was a..."
"Say it again! Say 'trick of the light' one more time." Fran broke in at this.
"Tell me what you saw, Mick. No one here thinks you're crazy. There has been a lot of weird shit going on and I need to hear it..." She sat beside him, putting an arm around him. "...in your words." She shot a concerned look at Eric, his face sallow, eyes hollowed by the flickering light.
Weird shit was an understatement. This was supposed to be a routine excavation of a minor burial casque. Fifteen caskets had been warehoused in the tiny stone chamber, three times the norm, and all fairly high-caste masons, slave drivers and priests. While hauling up the caskets a local man had begun screaming, and pulling bricks out of the wall. The other men had said he wasn't even speaking coherently. Once he'd been removed, workers felt a gentle breeze from the hole he'd created. Three weeks of ever so gentle work revealed the entrance to a hidden complex spiraling down into the earth. intricate and illegible text covered the walls and it was rife with danger. A section of the structure crumbled when they entered, narrowly missing some excavators. Someone cut themselves on a hidden spike, went wild, foamed at the mouth and began to have a seizure forty meters underground. The team that broke into the passage above nearly triggered the trap, burying themselves. So, she was very interested in what Mick had to say.
"There's a person in there!" He suddenly grabbed Fran and pulled her nose-to-nose with him. "An *alive* person! They looked at me, Fran, I saw them turn their head! I *saw* it!" They were rational people, down here, six degrees between them. She shared a private glance with Eric, who looked genuinely unnerved. Fran took a cleansing breath.
"I believe you, Mick, I do. We're going to open this thing and we're going to get to the bottom of whatever is happening here. The three of us. We started it, by god, we're going to finish it together. Now, let's move this...*thing* and see what's down there."
And so, they did. Mick and Eric had anchored a pulley on the wall two meters up, so all it took to was another few good yanks to pull the puck of metal out of the way. Fran tried not to think about the metal. They'd deduced the structure's relative age, and to find this would be a bit like finding a neanderthal corpse wearing plate and mail. She unclipped a light from the wall and aimed it's beam into the hole. The body was sitting daintily against the wall, legs crossed, hands folded on their lap. They were emaciated, a skeleton with gray skin clinging to their bones. The clothes had shredded to rags and their hair was not but whisps. She felt uneasy, noticing they were looking up at the hole, flecks of light shining deep in the eye sockets. She sighed.
"I've got a lift harness. Y'all get it attached to the pulley and let's see what's going on down there."
Eric dropped into the hole with her, and as they were lowered Fran's uneasiness mounted. The walls had a dusty sheen to them, and through the grime she could make out the material. Metal. As they hit the floor, it gave a hollow clang. She glared meaningfully at Eric.
"I don't know what the fuck is going on, but we've got to get out of here fast. Strap the stiff."
As they tied it into the harness, she couldn't help but feel like its head tracked her movements. It must have been the motion of the attachment process but damn if it wasn't eerie. Once finished, Eric began to tie an unrecognizable knot along the belay line.
"What's that?" She asked
"Double daisy lift line. No one is staying down here any longer than they need to, it's fucking creepy." Fran scoffed at Eric's remark.
"No way. We'll be overweight. Like fuck am I waiting for medevac down here with a wadded up corpse and two broken legs. Get up there, and keep that body safe."
Eric was wilful but would under no circumstance ignore a direct order. However, Fran did regret it. The room was cold, cloying and an uncomfortable aura enveloped her. The depth of her mistake didn't appear until Eric and the body were just passing over her head. There was a tattoo on the foot, a band around the ankle. The script was wrinkled and distorted, bit she would never be able to dislodge that sight. It was her tattoo. Her ankle. Her breath quickened, and fear caught her. Impossible was a word she'd heard a lot on this job, and it ran around her head like a stir-crazy dog. As she watched them disappear from the mouth of the hole, the light changed. Hard yellow changed to fluttering orange. Long, flickering shadows fell into the oubliette, making the walls dance. She'd know torchlight anywhere. A choir of voices chanted, the words echoing hollowly around her. Then, the lid closed, sealing her in endless black. Those words stayed with her. It took some time to translate them, the ancient words had never been pronounced. Time, she found she had in excess then, there in eddying darkness. Until light came again, a familiar figure picked out in blinding yellow. In that time immemorial the words sprinted around and around and around.
"And now, as has always been done, again and repeating again, we seal this loop in the name of Thoth. Tied like a ringed noose, we pray."
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[WP] In an elite academy for super powered people, your ability to control puppets is looked down upon, being seen as only having value for entertainment. You know otherwise, but have made no effort to correct people. That way, it'll be so much better when they finally see what you can really do.
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\[March 17th, 20XX\]
Only 47 more days...
47 more days of keeping up this act. 47 days of playing this "super ventriloquist" gimmick. 47 more days until I can control another of them. 47 more days until my "puppeteer" dies, presumably from exhaustion. 47 days until one of them picks me up and becomes my new vessel. If I'm lucky, Omniria could be my target. After all, she's unkillable, and anything she touches is also unkillable so long as she continues to touch it.
But that's not to say I'm the luckiest puppet to exist. No no, quite far from it. People freak out when an inanimate doll moves on it's own, so I have to move as little a possible. Due to me being considered little more than a toy, I've encountered some.. unsavory people. Some have tried tearing my limbs off. others have set me on fire. Why, you might ask? Because they take enjoyment out of their random sadism.
Anyways, back to what I was saying. 47 more days...
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September 1, 2010
I know I need to be patient, but it gets harder every day. In a way, I appreciate their jeers. I can use them as fuel. It makes what I'm going to have to do easier.
Still, I'm human, and it's starting to really hurt. It would be one thing if I just had their scorn, but the nobler ones have decided I'm worth pitying, and that's the part I can't take. Even the instructors have joined, in that regard, and for some reason that bothers me worst of all.
On my worst days, I wonder why you chose me for this task. I have faith that you had a good reason, but I haven't figured it out yet.
&#x200B;
((Not really sure where I wanna take this one but that's all I can come up with right now. Fun prompt!))
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[WP] After you die, you discover that people's souls become as powerful as the thing that killed them. The afterlife is ruled by the citizens of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the strongest souls to ever pass on; and they've only got a fraction of your power.
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I don’t know what went wrong, or what force they didn’t take into account,or honestly if a 1 just failed to get carried somewhere but I missed the planet. Not by a lot mind you, maybe a few hundred miles. Close enough to feel gravity start to pull at the outside edge of things, and get the slightest trajectory change but not enough to pull me into the atmosphere. FTL is a nice idea, but with out the Cryo-stasis tech I would have been dead lifetimes before reaching the planet. Now I see the master of my demise looming through the window with nothing to stop me or slow me down.
The cryo saved me the feeling of hitting the plasma, and maybe even kept me alive for an extra 1millionth of a second, but this new land is something they cryo had nothing to do with. The lush trees and vibrant grass, with mountains so tall that Everest looks like a foothill in comparison. But the people, are the stuff of nightmare. The ones in charge are cruel, they know that what is dead cant die, so they torture and maim those who are too weak to stop them. They live as if in tune with their surroundings, but the scars on the ground are almost as deep and hidden as the ones inflicted on the people. I can’t tell if I’m more angry or shocked by what I’m seeing but I feel the waves of hot anger and cold despair rack through me. As I walk down the path, I’m met by two men at the guard station who stop me and ask what I’m doing there. However, as they reach out to grab me one just retailed back in pain as blisters covered his hands and the other stopped in his tracks with the deepest blue I had ever seen before his leg shattered like a twig under his weight.
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“It was just as many of the 23d century tv shows, movies, and plays had predicted. In the year 3005, a scientist named Holyen Geriop attempted to bring the skeletal remains of a dinosaur back to life.”
Groans drifted throughout the room. They knew this story well.
“He brought in the help of many other well known scientists, including Denli Dopel and Kailo Terano. Though people rioted in the streets for the government to shut the project down, the team continued working on their serum of revival. Others speculated that this would lead to a tremendous scientific break, and it gained the support of thousands around the world.”
A fly buzzed near an open window.
“Today, we will be going more in-depth into what actually caused the rise of the Rvern. As you know, Holyen Geriop was a genius man, and with his team, they were thought to be some of the most unstoppable men in history. On the day before the first test using real dinosaur remains, only a few years ago in 3010, the horror know as “repentance” occurred.”
I could practically hear people rolling their eyes. While some were interested, it was safe to say most were not. They wanted the problem solved, not a lesson on how it isn’t.
“A little girl with an estimated age of 9 broke into the laboratory. Even after all these years, no one knows her name. She remains a Jane Doe. In the aftermath of the explosion, it was determined that this little girl was not trying to cause harm, but simply need a place to get out of the winter wind and temperatures that were soaring into the negatives.”
Chalk marks on the board at the front of the room portrayed a diagram.
“The laboratory was disguised as an abandoned building, so as not to attract attention. With homelessness at an all time low and break-ins happening only once every few years, it was thought that this would be enough. However, it was still equipped with a top notch security system, which went into lockdown the moment our Jane Doe entered.”
Chairs scraped against the wooden floor. There was a pointed tapping of feet from the front of the room, and silence descended once more.
“Now, we may never know exactly what happened in that lab, but one of the popular theories among scientists is that the Jane Doe must have at some point knocked over two or more of the mixtures in progress, causing them to fall and creating a new substance more powerful than thought possible. Most likely, when mixed, they formed a vapor, which is how the toxins spread so far. Unfortunately, the toxins overwhelmed the girl’s body, and she died only fifteen minutes after entering the building. By then, the laboratory was surrounded by the armed forces and local police. The lockdown method kept anyone from entering or exiting until all possible exit routes were blocked on the outside. When the guards stormed the building, they released the now mutated dinosaurs, or what we call the Rvern. These monsters are large and extremely powerful. In only two weeks, the capital city of the old country fell. This is also your daily reminder to always carry a feole flower for protection!”
Dozens of feole flowers were pulled from underneath chairs and desks and held tightly. As the only thing the Rvern would never come close to, they were worth millions in some places.
“Ok, thank you class, this concludes your lesson.”
As the chairs of thirty high school freshman scooted back, the door to the hall opened. Children streamed out the door and down the hall. I walked among them seamlessly. I’m invisible to them, after all. It’s depressing, but to be honest, not much different than how my life went. To be a Jane Doe is only to be expected after a life like mine.
My name is Jane Mhari, even if no body else knows it. I am nine years old and have been dead for five years, after the chemical explosion I caused in a top secret laboratory. A soul is only as powerful as the thing that killed it, of course, and the only other people who can see me, fear me. They sent me back to earth. I’m too powerful to ever belong.
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[WP] After you die, you discover that people's souls become as powerful as the thing that killed them. The afterlife is ruled by the citizens of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the strongest souls to ever pass on; and they've only got a fraction of your power.
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My shuttle was drifting out in open space. The FTL drive had broken down days ago as best I can guess, and the pseudo-intelligence on board had estimated that without the drive it'd take decades to get back to civilized space. The black hole I was sent out to research is getting awfully close. I guess this is it.
All I knew for thirty seconds was pain. Excruciating pain, as my body was spaghettified due to the absurd gravity of the black hole. And then there was nothing.
I woke up after an unknown amount of time had passed in a bright waiting room. A receptionist said to me, "Hi, James Nilan! Welcome to the afterlife! Before you enter the rest of the Afterlife, I should mention to you: Here, everyone gains the power of the thing that killed them. Our world is ruled by the citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki who died in the explosions of the Fat Man and Little Boy A-bombs."
I acknowledged that I understood her explanation and went into the world to find a brutal dystopia. The weaker deaths, such as those by poison or bullet, were used as slaves by the stronger deaths, such as those by explosion or natural disaster.
As I went deeper into the city, the worse it got. In the inner city, anyone who didn't die in Hiroshima or Nagasaki was a slave to their overlords. I walked into the palace, right up to the leaders, one from each city whom the bomb had detonated right on top of and said to them, "This is unjust. Free all of your slaves immediately, or I will destroy you all."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! What death could rival that of an atom bomb?"
I responded calmly, "Several. For example, hydrogen bombs. Antimatter implosion due to faulty antimatter containment on an FTL or Markov drive. Supernova or kilonova. Or the one I had, where I was spaghettified by a black hole. You don't even have a fraction of a fraction of my power. I could wipe everyone in this city off the face of this plane permanently at the snap of my fingers. Surrender now, unconditionally, or I will destroy you."
So, that's the story of how I became King of the City at the End. I went over to the Book of Law and wrote a few new ones to make all deaths equal. And I made everything better for everyone. Except those shits who thought that dying to radiation was the best death. Fuck them.
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“It was just as many of the 23d century tv shows, movies, and plays had predicted. In the year 3005, a scientist named Holyen Geriop attempted to bring the skeletal remains of a dinosaur back to life.”
Groans drifted throughout the room. They knew this story well.
“He brought in the help of many other well known scientists, including Denli Dopel and Kailo Terano. Though people rioted in the streets for the government to shut the project down, the team continued working on their serum of revival. Others speculated that this would lead to a tremendous scientific break, and it gained the support of thousands around the world.”
A fly buzzed near an open window.
“Today, we will be going more in-depth into what actually caused the rise of the Rvern. As you know, Holyen Geriop was a genius man, and with his team, they were thought to be some of the most unstoppable men in history. On the day before the first test using real dinosaur remains, only a few years ago in 3010, the horror know as “repentance” occurred.”
I could practically hear people rolling their eyes. While some were interested, it was safe to say most were not. They wanted the problem solved, not a lesson on how it isn’t.
“A little girl with an estimated age of 9 broke into the laboratory. Even after all these years, no one knows her name. She remains a Jane Doe. In the aftermath of the explosion, it was determined that this little girl was not trying to cause harm, but simply need a place to get out of the winter wind and temperatures that were soaring into the negatives.”
Chalk marks on the board at the front of the room portrayed a diagram.
“The laboratory was disguised as an abandoned building, so as not to attract attention. With homelessness at an all time low and break-ins happening only once every few years, it was thought that this would be enough. However, it was still equipped with a top notch security system, which went into lockdown the moment our Jane Doe entered.”
Chairs scraped against the wooden floor. There was a pointed tapping of feet from the front of the room, and silence descended once more.
“Now, we may never know exactly what happened in that lab, but one of the popular theories among scientists is that the Jane Doe must have at some point knocked over two or more of the mixtures in progress, causing them to fall and creating a new substance more powerful than thought possible. Most likely, when mixed, they formed a vapor, which is how the toxins spread so far. Unfortunately, the toxins overwhelmed the girl’s body, and she died only fifteen minutes after entering the building. By then, the laboratory was surrounded by the armed forces and local police. The lockdown method kept anyone from entering or exiting until all possible exit routes were blocked on the outside. When the guards stormed the building, they released the now mutated dinosaurs, or what we call the Rvern. These monsters are large and extremely powerful. In only two weeks, the capital city of the old country fell. This is also your daily reminder to always carry a feole flower for protection!”
Dozens of feole flowers were pulled from underneath chairs and desks and held tightly. As the only thing the Rvern would never come close to, they were worth millions in some places.
“Ok, thank you class, this concludes your lesson.”
As the chairs of thirty high school freshman scooted back, the door to the hall opened. Children streamed out the door and down the hall. I walked among them seamlessly. I’m invisible to them, after all. It’s depressing, but to be honest, not much different than how my life went. To be a Jane Doe is only to be expected after a life like mine.
My name is Jane Mhari, even if no body else knows it. I am nine years old and have been dead for five years, after the chemical explosion I caused in a top secret laboratory. A soul is only as powerful as the thing that killed it, of course, and the only other people who can see me, fear me. They sent me back to earth. I’m too powerful to ever belong.
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[WP] After you die, you discover that people's souls become as powerful as the thing that killed them. The afterlife is ruled by the citizens of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the strongest souls to ever pass on; and they've only got a fraction of your power.
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My shuttle was drifting out in open space. The FTL drive had broken down days ago as best I can guess, and the pseudo-intelligence on board had estimated that without the drive it'd take decades to get back to civilized space. The black hole I was sent out to research is getting awfully close. I guess this is it.
All I knew for thirty seconds was pain. Excruciating pain, as my body was spaghettified due to the absurd gravity of the black hole. And then there was nothing.
I woke up after an unknown amount of time had passed in a bright waiting room. A receptionist said to me, "Hi, James Nilan! Welcome to the afterlife! Before you enter the rest of the Afterlife, I should mention to you: Here, everyone gains the power of the thing that killed them. Our world is ruled by the citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki who died in the explosions of the Fat Man and Little Boy A-bombs."
I acknowledged that I understood her explanation and went into the world to find a brutal dystopia. The weaker deaths, such as those by poison or bullet, were used as slaves by the stronger deaths, such as those by explosion or natural disaster.
As I went deeper into the city, the worse it got. In the inner city, anyone who didn't die in Hiroshima or Nagasaki was a slave to their overlords. I walked into the palace, right up to the leaders, one from each city whom the bomb had detonated right on top of and said to them, "This is unjust. Free all of your slaves immediately, or I will destroy you all."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! What death could rival that of an atom bomb?"
I responded calmly, "Several. For example, hydrogen bombs. Antimatter implosion due to faulty antimatter containment on an FTL or Markov drive. Supernova or kilonova. Or the one I had, where I was spaghettified by a black hole. You don't even have a fraction of a fraction of my power. I could wipe everyone in this city off the face of this plane permanently at the snap of my fingers. Surrender now, unconditionally, or I will destroy you."
So, that's the story of how I became King of the City at the End. I went over to the Book of Law and wrote a few new ones to make all deaths equal. And I made everything better for everyone. Except those shits who thought that dying to radiation was the best death. Fuck them.
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I don’t know what went wrong, or what force they didn’t take into account,or honestly if a 1 just failed to get carried somewhere but I missed the planet. Not by a lot mind you, maybe a few hundred miles. Close enough to feel gravity start to pull at the outside edge of things, and get the slightest trajectory change but not enough to pull me into the atmosphere. FTL is a nice idea, but with out the Cryo-stasis tech I would have been dead lifetimes before reaching the planet. Now I see the master of my demise looming through the window with nothing to stop me or slow me down.
The cryo saved me the feeling of hitting the plasma, and maybe even kept me alive for an extra 1millionth of a second, but this new land is something they cryo had nothing to do with. The lush trees and vibrant grass, with mountains so tall that Everest looks like a foothill in comparison. But the people, are the stuff of nightmare. The ones in charge are cruel, they know that what is dead cant die, so they torture and maim those who are too weak to stop them. They live as if in tune with their surroundings, but the scars on the ground are almost as deep and hidden as the ones inflicted on the people. I can’t tell if I’m more angry or shocked by what I’m seeing but I feel the waves of hot anger and cold despair rack through me. As I walk down the path, I’m met by two men at the guard station who stop me and ask what I’m doing there. However, as they reach out to grab me one just retailed back in pain as blisters covered his hands and the other stopped in his tracks with the deepest blue I had ever seen before his leg shattered like a twig under his weight.
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[WP] You are a shapeshifter. You can change your form to look like anyone. But you don't remember who you were originally.
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My house has thirteen mirrors and each one of them is covered. It didn't always used to be this way. Decades ago, the idea of having even a single one of these mirrors covered would have felt like heresy to me. Each one used to be lovingly cleaned and often I would also have smaller mirrors easily accessible so that I could more easily see myself closer up or at an angle that my larger mirrors couldn't accommodate alone. What would a transformation be without an opportunity to admire my handiwork?
&#x200B;
I haven't uncovered a single mirror in at least a year and even that was just a quick, fleeting glance before putting the cover straight back on. I don't want to see myself because it's never myself that I'm seeing. I don't even remember now if there was a particular inciting incident that made me realise that I don't know what I look like or if the idea just infected me subtly and slowly over years. I do remember that it didn't distress me at first. Why would I need to know what my original form was? I was born a boring humanoid of some appearance I can no longer recall and now I can be the most attractive man or woman in the world, should I care to be. I have lived alongside humans long enough to know which type form will cause a reflex of respect, endearment or lust. I can be any specific human that exists and reap the benefits of the life they had sowed. I can even spend time as an animal, though that has always been distinctly more difficult for me.
&#x200B;
Eventually though, the lies got to me. Not directly - no, I've always found the idea of being caught more thrilling then terrifying. Every time someone has come close to realising I'm not the exact figure I say has simply prompted a surge in adrenaline. Nobody has ever fully discovered that I am an imposter in any one of my previous guises and even if they were to - what exactly would they do next? How could a mortal human even go about understanding that the person who looks \*exactly\* like a leading politician is somebody else entirely? And even if they were to arrest me, how would they keep hold of someone who can disappear into an ant the second their back is turned?
&#x200B;
The lies got to me because if you pretend to be someone else for long enough, you start forgetting who you are. This isn't something a lot of humans could understand, though some do, due to a shorter lifespan and an inability to change literally everything about themselves. I can lie almost flawlessly because as a shapeshifter I can simply will my face into projecting the correct expressions, I can create a perfect smile at a joke that disgusts me with barely any effort. I can stop myself from crying with merely a thought. After some time living in the skins of others though I realised that I wasn't certain which bits were lies and which weren't. A man offers to take me to an expensive restaurant and I say I love it there because that's what my skin would say, but find myself unable to remember if my earlier delight at being there had been real or fake. I can't remember clearly which parts of my previous lives I have loved but pretended to hate or despised but worn perfect smiles to. It all became a blur and I found myself lamenting that even my physical form was just another lie.
&#x200B;
Today might change all that. I climb out of bed and get showered and ready. For the first time in a while I wonder if I should at a mirror but I decide against it. I wear the same form I've worn for years. It's nobody in particular and I haven't even stolen particular features from particular people. I consider switching to a form that Zach will find more appealing in some way but decide against it, sure he'd see right through such a cheap ploy. I pull on clothes and my hair twists itself into a neat braid that I finish with a hair tie that I obviously don't really need. I head out.
&#x200B;
Zach hadn't told me what form he'd be taking but he did tell me what table we'd be sat at. He's a woman in her late thirties, wearing casual clothing and drinking a very frothy coffee. Physically, Zach looks average at best but his casual demeanour makes him seem far more appealing than a woman twice as attractive. I find myself quite surprised that I am completely unable to tell if this feature is real or an act.
"Hi Emmy," he says as I sit down, "what's up? You sounded pretty serious on the phone."
I hadn't wanted to broach the subject of why I really wanted to talk to him until I could see him in person. It had seemed vitally important that we be able to physically see each other for this conversation but now we're both actually here, I'm unable to speak. With nobody here I can really fool I find myself nervously tapping on the table.
"Then again," Zach says after a few moments awkward silence, "I guess you've always been the serious type."
"I have?!" I blurt out and Zach laughs at my outburst.
"Sure. What's this really about?"
"I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what I look like, what I've loved, what I've hated or what memories are of me being genuine and which ones are fake. It's-" I pause, unsure if I should finish before continuing, "it's destroying me."
"I can see how that would be an issue." Zach nods.
"It wasn't for you?"
"Hell no. But that's a different kettle of fish. I'm nowhere near as talented, I couldn't choose to be another person for years straight even if I wanted to. Even a single month would be a very serious challenge."
I consider this. I hadn't really known I was special. No shapeshifter's power is at it's maximum when they first get it and I'd always just assumed that eventually everyone got to the same point I did. The idea that for some shifters there was any effort to it, no matter how small, felt foreign and bizarre.
"Anyway," Zach says, "just because you don't know what you've liked in the past doesn't mean you don't know what you like now. Take that coffee you ordered. Do you like it?"
I inhale the coffee deeply and nod at him.
"There we go then. And as for appearances, what you're doing now is pretty much exactly what I'd expect adult Emmy to look like."
The idea that my subconscious might know what I look like had never occurred to me, the fact that it had influenced my default form these recent years was startling.
"I look the same?" I ask with a tone approaching wonder.
"Well. You've dyed your hair."
I have to laugh at that and it's a sudden, genuine laugh. We order a bite to eat and for the first time in a long time, I chat to somebody without lying at all.
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I am in the void again . It's a shapeless , seamless dimension swirling unpredictably in strangely mesmerizing patterns . I let in cover me , devour me as my mind plunges into its deepest , darkest corner for the faintest , slightest hint of a memory . Of the person I was, once upon a time . Before the goddess had claimed me , or rather saved me . She had granted me this blessed gift , one which I took every advantage of . I now close my eyes , or what I think my eyes are . It's hard to tell , in this abstract plane of existence . I think of her and pray , with all my devotion and faith . She appeared , in all her glorious divinity . It was hard to look at her ; soft , golden light shone from her . She didn't have a definite shape either; her form constantly shifted in a distracting blur of wildly different shapes . At the center of her form , though , a whiteness anchored her to a rigid , comprehensible structure . She finally appeared as a young androgynous human , with the sharp-cut features and black hair . I bow , the dimension shifting violently because of the movement . She tilts her head at me , asking me why I summoned her . She didn't need to speak ; her thoughts vibrated in my head . Who am I , I ask her . Decades of shape-shifting had rusted my memory of myself . With every disguise , I seem to lose myself into a part I couldn't reach . It had taken all of my concentration to attain the in-between stage of nothingness . My physical form was so far lost that the goddess was my only hope ; she must know why my identity had slipped away , trickled like water into the edge , where all my efforts wasted . You , my devotee , are my disciple . You are my child , her thoughts echoed in my mind melodiously . Who was I before that ? , I asked , struggling to not return into the physical world . Why do you wish to know ? , the goddess mused , her lip curling . I realized I didn't know why ; what would I do with it ? . Yet , a part of me craved that knowledge of myself , a person with an actual personality . I plead with the goddess . Please , I need to know . Her eyes narrowed and her thoughts now echoed in a sharp , screeching scream . You knew that the gift has consequences ; that it strips you a little every time you use it . Your abuse of it has caused this . But , your unflinching devotion has pleased me . I offer you a choice ; I can return you your identity but you lose your powers . Since you have completely stripped yourselves of all shreds of your past , I can wipe your mind . It will be a blank canvas for you ; a second birth in essence . You can start afresh , create a life you had never had . Choose wisely . I look at the goddess . I once again reach to the edge of my mind ; the place where a dark haze surrounds me viciously , blocking me from myself . I must have known the price ; what kind of life had allowed to choose this gift ? . It must have been a desperate , hollow person who made that choice . Or was it a ruthless , soulless person ? . Whoever it was , I realized , was no longer me . I look up , my choice made . The goddess seemed pleased ; she was smiling . You are wise , to let go . I smile too .
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[WP] You are a shapeshifter. You can change your form to look like anyone. But you don't remember who you were originally.
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It was a Wednesday, I woke up, got out and went to the bathroom. I look into the mirror, but a stranger returns the gaze.
Though, stranger is not the right word I guess, I know who this man is, Dave Corbyn, 54, married, two kids. He lives in a small single-floor house in Atlanta, Georgia. He lived in that house for 27 years, that's longer than I have ever been in one country forget any one city or state. I know I'm not Dave but I lived his life for so long.
"Dave?" A voice of a woman pierces through my thoughts, I of course know that voice, that was Dave's wife of 28 years, Martha. I turn towards her deep brown eyes.
"Trouble waking up?" "I'm just a bit tired, that's all." I should have just told everything was fine, she might get worried or worse, suspicious. "But I'm fine really." She chuckles "I'm surprised you didn't stay in bed longer." She wraps her arms around my head, and I can feel her lips on mine. It feels warm and comforting, like a blanket on a cold winter night. Don't enjoy yourself now,. you tell yourself, she isn't your wife. "Well I should be heading out soon." She said as she leaned away from my face. She works as an English teacher in the local high-school, she has a unique love for poetry, I could tell by the many times she left a poetry book on the nightstand by her. "Do you want some coffee first?" I ask her, she has a puzzled look on her face "You never make me coffee anymore, what's the occasion?" "Nothing special, it's just coffee." " Well, go right ahead."
I went downstairs and made some coffee for Martha, we set down and drank it together, I asked her how she slept, she answered fine and we talked about a weird dream she had, we laughed she held my hand and gave me a warm smile. Then, she headed out to work and we kissed again on the driveway. I got back in the house, drank the rest of her coffee, it was warm like her and in a color like her skin, what are you doing? Enjoying the company of a married woman. She doesn't love you but the man you're masquerading as.
I went out for work, it was an uneventful day. I smiled at the people I usually smile at. And talked to the people I usually talk to. Like always, first about sports, then some politics and finally we would agree to meet up at the local bar later.
We went there, me and some people Dave knows from work. They drank quite a bit, they got loud and kind of annoying. I drank one tall glass of beer and nothing else, I just wanted to get home and rest. I left for home a bit early, and went through the local supermarket and picked out a can of beer. As I reached my hand to take one I couldn't help but wonder why I was buying more beer.
"Hank?" A voice called from beside me. "Hank Fricking Livingston." The man giggled, I turned to him. He was a blond man, neatly dressed and wearing sunglasses. Sunglasses, indoors and at night? "We were all sure you were dead." "Who are you?" "Don't fuck with me Livingston." The name felt familiar though I couldn't place my finger on it. The young man's expression turned from an annoyed one to one of realization. "Oh you were medicated?." "Medicated?" "Fried. He never discharged you, ha!" He exclaimed. "That is rich!" "What do you want from me?" The man took a deep breath. "You used to work for an organization called the MSF or mutant special forces." "The heck?" "You were placed here undercover to give us the details on an arms deal between your employer, Hammer industries, and a 'person of interest', yeah let's call it that." I remained silent. "The agent in charge of your operation agent Simmons, gave you two cover stories. One is an old man with a day job." He pointed at me. "And the other a freshly hired executive at Hammer. He medicated you in order that day job Joe over here won't remember the details of the mission the one thing you did is to always come to this shithole to buy a can of beer at 20:33. Hank, you were stranded here for 33 years. Control thought you died in the car crash together with Simmons but that was the real Dave, DNA evidence confirmed that recently. You were a field agent, Hank 'Snakeskin' Livingston, a high-class shapeshifter. Welcome home Hank."
I don't have the ending quite figure out so I'm stopping here, hope you enjoyed the story.
|
I am in the void again . It's a shapeless , seamless dimension swirling unpredictably in strangely mesmerizing patterns . I let in cover me , devour me as my mind plunges into its deepest , darkest corner for the faintest , slightest hint of a memory . Of the person I was, once upon a time . Before the goddess had claimed me , or rather saved me . She had granted me this blessed gift , one which I took every advantage of . I now close my eyes , or what I think my eyes are . It's hard to tell , in this abstract plane of existence . I think of her and pray , with all my devotion and faith . She appeared , in all her glorious divinity . It was hard to look at her ; soft , golden light shone from her . She didn't have a definite shape either; her form constantly shifted in a distracting blur of wildly different shapes . At the center of her form , though , a whiteness anchored her to a rigid , comprehensible structure . She finally appeared as a young androgynous human , with the sharp-cut features and black hair . I bow , the dimension shifting violently because of the movement . She tilts her head at me , asking me why I summoned her . She didn't need to speak ; her thoughts vibrated in my head . Who am I , I ask her . Decades of shape-shifting had rusted my memory of myself . With every disguise , I seem to lose myself into a part I couldn't reach . It had taken all of my concentration to attain the in-between stage of nothingness . My physical form was so far lost that the goddess was my only hope ; she must know why my identity had slipped away , trickled like water into the edge , where all my efforts wasted . You , my devotee , are my disciple . You are my child , her thoughts echoed in my mind melodiously . Who was I before that ? , I asked , struggling to not return into the physical world . Why do you wish to know ? , the goddess mused , her lip curling . I realized I didn't know why ; what would I do with it ? . Yet , a part of me craved that knowledge of myself , a person with an actual personality . I plead with the goddess . Please , I need to know . Her eyes narrowed and her thoughts now echoed in a sharp , screeching scream . You knew that the gift has consequences ; that it strips you a little every time you use it . Your abuse of it has caused this . But , your unflinching devotion has pleased me . I offer you a choice ; I can return you your identity but you lose your powers . Since you have completely stripped yourselves of all shreds of your past , I can wipe your mind . It will be a blank canvas for you ; a second birth in essence . You can start afresh , create a life you had never had . Choose wisely . I look at the goddess . I once again reach to the edge of my mind ; the place where a dark haze surrounds me viciously , blocking me from myself . I must have known the price ; what kind of life had allowed to choose this gift ? . It must have been a desperate , hollow person who made that choice . Or was it a ruthless , soulless person ? . Whoever it was , I realized , was no longer me . I look up , my choice made . The goddess seemed pleased ; she was smiling . You are wise , to let go . I smile too .
|
|
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
|
*Click*.
"... tenth shooting this week related to what some psychologists are dubbing 'Truman Syndrome', marked by intense feelings of paranoia--"
*Click*.
"...want to assure everyone watching and listening that we do not, repeat, do not have any plans for any spin-offs not involving any members of the Burbank family--"
*Click*.
"... alleged that his neighbor was an actor, hired to convince him that he was living in a false reality similar to that of Truman Burbank, recently deceased star of--"
*Click*.
"... my God, it's almost like he knew all along--"
*Click*.
"...Prime Minister denied that any British subjects had been subjected to unwitting televisual monitoring during Question Time, to a fiery response from the Commons..."
*Click*.
"...My God! They... they're all going crazy! They're losing their minds!--"
*Click*.
"... day five of the hearings dissolved into pandemonium as protestors broke through into the Senate Hearing Chamber to confront Frank Wainwright, Head of Production Development at TruCo, who was testifying with regards to allegations of mass surveillance of the public--"
*Click*.
"... I mean, how do we know?! How the \[BLEEP\] do we \[BLEEP\]in' *know*?! They watched *him* for his whole goddamn life, how do we know they aren't watching *all* of us--"
*Click*.
"They're lying to you! They're lying to me! They're lying to all of us!--"
*Click*.
"...representative of the Screen Actors Guild called for greater protections for the acting community after Linning, 34, was violently assaulted by a crowd who recognised her from a brief guest appearance on "The Truman Show"--"
*Click*.
"...I mean, you have to wonder how much he knew and when, of course, but equally, you have to wonder... many have interpreted his words as a warning, that we're all being watched like he was. That we're all the subjects of our own TV shows, that everyone is watching us. But what if it was something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, let's put aside everything else for a moment. Let's look past the spectacle and artifice, the self-contained dome and the microscopic cameras. The surveillance and the ethical breaches. Let's look at what this really was at the most basic level for a moment. This was a man who was lied to for his entire life by everyone he knew. Everyone who pretended to be his friends, his family, his closest loved ones, was lying to him. For their own benefit. And they never told to tell him. And they trapped him inside a bubble for his entire life and made the entire world watch. How do you think that would make him feel? How would you feel?"
"You're saying he was angry."
"This man watched his mother die -- his father drown -- in front of him, and they were merely actors. His wife was an actor. His best friend was an actor. I'm saying he was betrayed by everyone he knew. And not only that, but everyone in the world literally watched it happen. And found it entertaining. I'm saying that if he truly did work it out, and remained trapped in there all this time, he would have been *more* than angry."
"So you think he knew what would happen?"
"I don't think anyone could predict exactly what would happen, but I think if you thought about it... they trapped Truman Burbank in a glorified fishbowl his entire life and watched him and lied to him. If they could do it to him, they could do it to anyone. They could do it to everyone. So imagine someone angry, bitter, someone who wanted to lash out at the world, imagine if that someone wanted to plant a seed of doubt, a seed of paranoia in a society which had watched him be manipulated and lied to, a society which knew how easily it could be done... that society might react as angrily and fearfully as he did. And when societies get angry and fearful... "
"So you think Truman was lying? Deliberately?"
"I think Truman Burbank on his deathbed merely turned the same lie he lived through his entire life back on the world, and I think we're reacting exactly the way he thought we would."
"For revenge."
"I think the world we're now living in, a world where everyone is paranoid that they alone are the only real person in a world of lies, might just be the only justice Truman Burbank will ever see for what was done to him. I think he did it to punish us."
"... Ms. Whitman, thank you. Sylvia Whitman, founder of the "Free Truman" Movement, speaking to us from--"
*Click*.
|
Christof died long back. His son Ken is now producer of the show. Truman's announcement sends a chill down his spine. He comes out of the studio ditching the wrap party. But the more he tries to go home, he faces similar roadblocks like Truman which forces him to come back to the studio. He thinks for a while and remembers he never got back home from the sets before time. Today is the first time he tried to do so. Bewildered Ken sits in his car. A Production guy comes out and knocks on the car window. Ken comes out of the car. The guy takes him inside to the party.
As the camera zooms out we see a completely different crew is filming every move of Ken and behind the monitors one pair of eye very similar to Christof's is looking at them.
|
|
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
|
Pandemonium broke out. Was this a Truman-ception scenario they were all duped into believing? All behavior was micro-analyzed trying to see cracks in the facade, naturally everyone was behaving oddly so this only fueled the wide spread speculations and crazy theories. Nearly every house hold was torn apart trying to get rid of their spy equipment they believed that was installed in their home without their consent. No one took chances. No amount of news articles or press releases from the shows creator could deter the mayhem that was being unleashed. Every syllable that was uttered was regarded as proof of their own conspiracies that ran as rampant as the looters. Even the acts of looting and destroying were regarded as a deeper truth they could find on their own. Society had begun to spiral, who was real, who was acting, who was advertising, who was milking the cash cow? All answers were ignored as everyone was right. The cults were quickly divided into sub-cults and the sub-cults only fractured believing in the main hero syndrome that Truman had lived for 87 years.
|
Christof died long back. His son Ken is now producer of the show. Truman's announcement sends a chill down his spine. He comes out of the studio ditching the wrap party. But the more he tries to go home, he faces similar roadblocks like Truman which forces him to come back to the studio. He thinks for a while and remembers he never got back home from the sets before time. Today is the first time he tried to do so. Bewildered Ken sits in his car. A Production guy comes out and knocks on the car window. Ken comes out of the car. The guy takes him inside to the party.
As the camera zooms out we see a completely different crew is filming every move of Ken and behind the monitors one pair of eye very similar to Christof's is looking at them.
|
|
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
|
*Click*.
"... tenth shooting this week related to what some psychologists are dubbing 'Truman Syndrome', marked by intense feelings of paranoia--"
*Click*.
"...want to assure everyone watching and listening that we do not, repeat, do not have any plans for any spin-offs not involving any members of the Burbank family--"
*Click*.
"... alleged that his neighbor was an actor, hired to convince him that he was living in a false reality similar to that of Truman Burbank, recently deceased star of--"
*Click*.
"... my God, it's almost like he knew all along--"
*Click*.
"...Prime Minister denied that any British subjects had been subjected to unwitting televisual monitoring during Question Time, to a fiery response from the Commons..."
*Click*.
"...My God! They... they're all going crazy! They're losing their minds!--"
*Click*.
"... day five of the hearings dissolved into pandemonium as protestors broke through into the Senate Hearing Chamber to confront Frank Wainwright, Head of Production Development at TruCo, who was testifying with regards to allegations of mass surveillance of the public--"
*Click*.
"... I mean, how do we know?! How the \[BLEEP\] do we \[BLEEP\]in' *know*?! They watched *him* for his whole goddamn life, how do we know they aren't watching *all* of us--"
*Click*.
"They're lying to you! They're lying to me! They're lying to all of us!--"
*Click*.
"...representative of the Screen Actors Guild called for greater protections for the acting community after Linning, 34, was violently assaulted by a crowd who recognised her from a brief guest appearance on "The Truman Show"--"
*Click*.
"...I mean, you have to wonder how much he knew and when, of course, but equally, you have to wonder... many have interpreted his words as a warning, that we're all being watched like he was. That we're all the subjects of our own TV shows, that everyone is watching us. But what if it was something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, let's put aside everything else for a moment. Let's look past the spectacle and artifice, the self-contained dome and the microscopic cameras. The surveillance and the ethical breaches. Let's look at what this really was at the most basic level for a moment. This was a man who was lied to for his entire life by everyone he knew. Everyone who pretended to be his friends, his family, his closest loved ones, was lying to him. For their own benefit. And they never told to tell him. And they trapped him inside a bubble for his entire life and made the entire world watch. How do you think that would make him feel? How would you feel?"
"You're saying he was angry."
"This man watched his mother die -- his father drown -- in front of him, and they were merely actors. His wife was an actor. His best friend was an actor. I'm saying he was betrayed by everyone he knew. And not only that, but everyone in the world literally watched it happen. And found it entertaining. I'm saying that if he truly did work it out, and remained trapped in there all this time, he would have been *more* than angry."
"So you think he knew what would happen?"
"I don't think anyone could predict exactly what would happen, but I think if you thought about it... they trapped Truman Burbank in a glorified fishbowl his entire life and watched him and lied to him. If they could do it to him, they could do it to anyone. They could do it to everyone. So imagine someone angry, bitter, someone who wanted to lash out at the world, imagine if that someone wanted to plant a seed of doubt, a seed of paranoia in a society which had watched him be manipulated and lied to, a society which knew how easily it could be done... that society might react as angrily and fearfully as he did. And when societies get angry and fearful... "
"So you think Truman was lying? Deliberately?"
"I think Truman Burbank on his deathbed merely turned the same lie he lived through his entire life back on the world, and I think we're reacting exactly the way he thought we would."
"For revenge."
"I think the world we're now living in, a world where everyone is paranoid that they alone are the only real person in a world of lies, might just be the only justice Truman Burbank will ever see for what was done to him. I think he did it to punish us."
"... Ms. Whitman, thank you. Sylvia Whitman, founder of the "Free Truman" Movement, speaking to us from--"
*Click*.
|
The Truman Show is where I loose it all;
I refused to brawl or to hear his call;
Give up, fall; Good luck, y'all;
Imma do it just like him and risk a toll;
So I head over to the Mall with Paul;
I don't like to talk... I'd rather eat some chalk;
So I just walked along, that's when they played a song;
I thought "great" n sung till the doorbell rung;
I jump up and run over to the door where,
I swung it open by when my lung thought of choking;
Who stands there? It's just Paul's fully stressed hair;
But I'm no bully so truly asked fair:
"Man, what's poppin?" And he said:
"didn't you hear me knocking?!"
I explained "Are you mocking me?!
I just made me a cup of tea."
Lucky old me who lies and nobody see's;
These lines are all that is free;
And by times it again calls for me;
This tall block of "mall mud"...
"No walls, odd..." is what I thought;
While running through the yard of my brain;
This smart respite rain...
It's hard despised pain...
I'm going insane;
Woke up and then;
Found myself in this strange world right when;
It began again!
(A lil experiment for you guys, hope u enjoy!)
|
|
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
|
Pandemonium broke out. Was this a Truman-ception scenario they were all duped into believing? All behavior was micro-analyzed trying to see cracks in the facade, naturally everyone was behaving oddly so this only fueled the wide spread speculations and crazy theories. Nearly every house hold was torn apart trying to get rid of their spy equipment they believed that was installed in their home without their consent. No one took chances. No amount of news articles or press releases from the shows creator could deter the mayhem that was being unleashed. Every syllable that was uttered was regarded as proof of their own conspiracies that ran as rampant as the looters. Even the acts of looting and destroying were regarded as a deeper truth they could find on their own. Society had begun to spiral, who was real, who was acting, who was advertising, who was milking the cash cow? All answers were ignored as everyone was right. The cults were quickly divided into sub-cults and the sub-cults only fractured believing in the main hero syndrome that Truman had lived for 87 years.
|
The Truman Show is where I loose it all;
I refused to brawl or to hear his call;
Give up, fall; Good luck, y'all;
Imma do it just like him and risk a toll;
So I head over to the Mall with Paul;
I don't like to talk... I'd rather eat some chalk;
So I just walked along, that's when they played a song;
I thought "great" n sung till the doorbell rung;
I jump up and run over to the door where,
I swung it open by when my lung thought of choking;
Who stands there? It's just Paul's fully stressed hair;
But I'm no bully so truly asked fair:
"Man, what's poppin?" And he said:
"didn't you hear me knocking?!"
I explained "Are you mocking me?!
I just made me a cup of tea."
Lucky old me who lies and nobody see's;
These lines are all that is free;
And by times it again calls for me;
This tall block of "mall mud"...
"No walls, odd..." is what I thought;
While running through the yard of my brain;
This smart respite rain...
It's hard despised pain...
I'm going insane;
Woke up and then;
Found myself in this strange world right when;
It began again!
(A lil experiment for you guys, hope u enjoy!)
|
|
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
|
Pandemonium broke out. Was this a Truman-ception scenario they were all duped into believing? All behavior was micro-analyzed trying to see cracks in the facade, naturally everyone was behaving oddly so this only fueled the wide spread speculations and crazy theories. Nearly every house hold was torn apart trying to get rid of their spy equipment they believed that was installed in their home without their consent. No one took chances. No amount of news articles or press releases from the shows creator could deter the mayhem that was being unleashed. Every syllable that was uttered was regarded as proof of their own conspiracies that ran as rampant as the looters. Even the acts of looting and destroying were regarded as a deeper truth they could find on their own. Society had begun to spiral, who was real, who was acting, who was advertising, who was milking the cash cow? All answers were ignored as everyone was right. The cults were quickly divided into sub-cults and the sub-cults only fractured believing in the main hero syndrome that Truman had lived for 87 years.
|
*Click*.
"... tenth shooting this week related to what some psychologists are dubbing 'Truman Syndrome', marked by intense feelings of paranoia--"
*Click*.
"...want to assure everyone watching and listening that we do not, repeat, do not have any plans for any spin-offs not involving any members of the Burbank family--"
*Click*.
"... alleged that his neighbor was an actor, hired to convince him that he was living in a false reality similar to that of Truman Burbank, recently deceased star of--"
*Click*.
"... my God, it's almost like he knew all along--"
*Click*.
"...Prime Minister denied that any British subjects had been subjected to unwitting televisual monitoring during Question Time, to a fiery response from the Commons..."
*Click*.
"...My God! They... they're all going crazy! They're losing their minds!--"
*Click*.
"... day five of the hearings dissolved into pandemonium as protestors broke through into the Senate Hearing Chamber to confront Frank Wainwright, Head of Production Development at TruCo, who was testifying with regards to allegations of mass surveillance of the public--"
*Click*.
"... I mean, how do we know?! How the \[BLEEP\] do we \[BLEEP\]in' *know*?! They watched *him* for his whole goddamn life, how do we know they aren't watching *all* of us--"
*Click*.
"They're lying to you! They're lying to me! They're lying to all of us!--"
*Click*.
"...representative of the Screen Actors Guild called for greater protections for the acting community after Linning, 34, was violently assaulted by a crowd who recognised her from a brief guest appearance on "The Truman Show"--"
*Click*.
"...I mean, you have to wonder how much he knew and when, of course, but equally, you have to wonder... many have interpreted his words as a warning, that we're all being watched like he was. That we're all the subjects of our own TV shows, that everyone is watching us. But what if it was something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, let's put aside everything else for a moment. Let's look past the spectacle and artifice, the self-contained dome and the microscopic cameras. The surveillance and the ethical breaches. Let's look at what this really was at the most basic level for a moment. This was a man who was lied to for his entire life by everyone he knew. Everyone who pretended to be his friends, his family, his closest loved ones, was lying to him. For their own benefit. And they never told to tell him. And they trapped him inside a bubble for his entire life and made the entire world watch. How do you think that would make him feel? How would you feel?"
"You're saying he was angry."
"This man watched his mother die -- his father drown -- in front of him, and they were merely actors. His wife was an actor. His best friend was an actor. I'm saying he was betrayed by everyone he knew. And not only that, but everyone in the world literally watched it happen. And found it entertaining. I'm saying that if he truly did work it out, and remained trapped in there all this time, he would have been *more* than angry."
"So you think he knew what would happen?"
"I don't think anyone could predict exactly what would happen, but I think if you thought about it... they trapped Truman Burbank in a glorified fishbowl his entire life and watched him and lied to him. If they could do it to him, they could do it to anyone. They could do it to everyone. So imagine someone angry, bitter, someone who wanted to lash out at the world, imagine if that someone wanted to plant a seed of doubt, a seed of paranoia in a society which had watched him be manipulated and lied to, a society which knew how easily it could be done... that society might react as angrily and fearfully as he did. And when societies get angry and fearful... "
"So you think Truman was lying? Deliberately?"
"I think Truman Burbank on his deathbed merely turned the same lie he lived through his entire life back on the world, and I think we're reacting exactly the way he thought we would."
"For revenge."
"I think the world we're now living in, a world where everyone is paranoid that they alone are the only real person in a world of lies, might just be the only justice Truman Burbank will ever see for what was done to him. I think he did it to punish us."
"... Ms. Whitman, thank you. Sylvia Whitman, founder of the "Free Truman" Movement, speaking to us from--"
*Click*.
|
|
[WP] After purchasing an older, "Fixer Upper," Victorian style home, you discover a time capsule buried on the property with the message, DO NOT OPEN UNTIL NEW YEARS 1899.
|
The writing on the canister was clean and legible. The lines of the writing crisp and sharp. The paint looked fresh, despite the patina of dust and debris which you’d expect of something buried two foot under the surface.
It was light. Tim lifted it effortlessly from the hole in front of the digger. He turned it this way and that, trying to work out what it was.
The silvery marks that the blade had made when the digger’s prongs had struck it marred the completely smooth side, and there was what looked like a jet black panel on the other.
Try as he might, Tim could not see the black surface. It was as if an inky black hole had appeared in his vision.
He stared into it, trying to focus on the perfect black.
A burst of green light startled him, and he dropped the canister. It rolled on the grass, pointing towards the old house.
A continuous tone sounded, coming from everywhere and nowhere, followed by a series of musical notes which made no recognisable tune.
Silence followed.
Then the tone repeated, and the notes too.
Tim did what every puzzle gamer would do; he hummed the notes back to the canister.
There was a click and a hiss, and the end started unscrewing. Before Tim could think, the lid had dropped onto the grass with an almost imperceptible thud.
A metal claw came out, and Tim realised that perhaps he should have left this to someone more qualified.
Someone far more qualified.
He pulled out his phone as he backed away, his trembling fingers dialling the emergency services. He’d seen enough horror movies to believe that he was doomed.
No signal.
His worst fears confirmed, he backed away, keeping the metal creature that had emerged in his line of sight. His heart was racing, and his palms were sweating.
It ignored him, transforming as it moved, into a structure that traced a wide circle with the canister at one point on the circumference.
Another green light blazed up, and Tim’s freeze reflex took over. He was completely paralysed as a cylinder appeared in the air not ten feet in front of him; and then vanished, leaving a well dressed man in a top hat and tails.
The man looked around, and saw the very wide-eyed and bemused Tim.
“What ho, good man!” the man said cheerily, “Do you mind awfully if I ask you the time? I seem to have forgotten my pocket watch, don’t you know?”
Tim let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.
“Uh. Just past 3, I think.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.” the man continued, twirling the cane in his hand, “And a lovely Sunday afternoon it is, too.”
Tim was dazed, but he knew it wasn’t the weekend.
“I think you might have got your days mixed up. It’s Wednesday today.”
“Silly me! Getting my days mixed up. Easily done, at my age!” he chuckled deprecatingly, “Could I convince you to tell an old man the date?”
“It’s the 25th”
The man said nothing, merely looking expectantly at Tim.
“of August”
The silence continued. The main raised his eyebrows and nodded for Tim to continue.
“2021”
The man pursed his lips, and nodded. A frown marred his previously cheerful brow.
“Oh bother. I’m a little late. I’ll have to try again.”
He reached down to pick up the canister, and tipped his hat to Tim.
“Cheerio!”
The flare of light was the same as before. But afterwards there was no trace of the man, the canister, or the metal ring.
The only proof that Tim hadn’t lost his mind was a blackened circle just over a meter wide on the autumnal grass.
|
so i'm digging my new house with jerry and he says "yo look at this shit" and i grab my 200$ limited-edition supreme shovel and dig up the shit which reduces the value of the shovel from new to used making it worth about $75 dollars less than msrp. I am pretty fucking pissed.
&#x200B;
after returning my supreme shovel i pry open the capsule in the ground with my gucci crowbar. I should stop buying these things. The capsule is tall, white, and shiny. Just like my illegal Xanax pills.
&#x200B;
Peering inside the dusty big pill, I see a paper more yellowed than dog piss. Being a logical man, I restore the paper using my air fryer. After 30 excruciating minutes of waiting, I open the tray and look inside.
&#x200B;
The paper reads one thing.
"Gottem"
|
|
[WP] In a school for assassins and mercenaries, you're a beloved lunch lady. You ruefully realize that you're the only person nearly everyone trusts. Then you get framed for placing hemlock in an administrator's meal. The school board rushes to fire you, throwing the academy into turmoil.
|
I wiped my sweaty palms on my heavily stained apron for the tenth time in the last five minutes. The doors ahead were heavy, ornately decorated wood, and the depictions of violence and death carved into them seemed an omen for what was to come.
“Mrs. Brown! Mrs. Brown!”
I glanced down the hall. Jack, one of my favorite students, was sprinting towards me. Light flashed off his many hidden knives as his black leather coat flapped behind him.
“Mrs. Brown! What’s happening?”
I put on a weary smile. “I’m afraid I’m about to get fired, most likely,” I said in my kindest voice. “It’s okay. It’s time for me to move on.”
Jack shook his head stubbornly. “No. No way. You’re…” His voice cracked.
“Hush, Jack. No weakness, remember?” I said.
“I can’t trust anyone else here,” he said. “They’re all vile killers.”
“Just like you.”
“Maybe,” he said, nodding, “but… everyone needs *someone*, right?”
“You’ll find someone,” I said encouragingly. “You’re a good kid and a talented assassin. Remember when you killed that mercenary ten years older than you because he was stealing from your classmate? She’ll remember that.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” he asked, eyes wide. “I *need* you here.”
I hummed a song quietly. “Look under your pillow when you get back to your dorm,” I said. “You’ll find the meatloaf recipe there. I know it’s your favorite.”
“But—”
“Hush, now, Jack. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
The door cracked open. “Eliza Brown?” a voice called out.
I stood and wiped my hands on my apron once more. “Go, Jack. They won’t let you in. You can’t help me right now.”
Jack quickly wiped a tear away and ran away. I watched him fondly for a moment. He often reminded me of my son, though he must have been at least twenty years too old for that.
“Mrs. Brown,” the voice said, more insistently this time. “Enter.”
“Coming!” I said in my best saccharine sing-song voice.
The door swung open, revealing an enormous, ornate room filled with the members of the school board. At my previous position, that would not have been a particularly threatening group, but here, every other person in this room had earned their spot through murder.
Ironically, I must have been the only one there who *hadn’t* killed someone.
“Eliza Brown,” said the man at the center known only as the Dean. His gravelly voice sounded like volcanic rock in a too-powerful blender. “You stand here accused of the poisoning and murder of Jacques Saint Claire through the use of hemlock in his afternoon snack. While it is not our position to discourage and punish murder at this academy, we cannot allow our staff to participate.”
I gulped and nodded.
The Dean continued. “If found guilty, you will be fired. You will not be turned over to the authorities, nor will we allow any of our members to punish you in any other ways. This board only seeks the truth. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“How do you plead?”
“I didn’t do it, sir.”
Several members of the board sighed as if they had been expecting that and yet had hoped that I would not say it.
“You were the only one to touch his meal.”
“That’s not true, sir,” I protested. “A runner took it to his quarters.”
“And was visible to hundreds of witnesses,” the Dean said, his brow furrowed. “Furthermore, the dish was covered. He would have to remove the coer and add the poison without anyone noticing. Beyond that, he would have to alter the dish in such a way that the deceased would not have seen the leaves. No. Only you could have done this.”
“I don’t even—”
“*And*,” the Dean said loudly, “investigators found hemlock in your quarters. A local apothecary confirms that he sold you a quantity of the plant earlier this week. I’m afraid the evidence is stacked against you, Mrs. Brown.”
“There were no witnesses!”
“You are beloved by the school. It would be trivial for you to arrange them to testify in your favor.”
I ground my teeth. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
The Dean did not respond.
“Very well. Have your vote. Confirm me a murderer.”
“All who find the accused guilty?” the Dean asked.
Slowly, every single person in the room raised a hand.
“Eliza Brown, you are found guilty of aggression against a fellow staff member. You will be removed from our employ without severance. You will leave before tonight. Dismissed.”
The board began to gather their things and stand.
“Actually,” I said loudly.
The Dean glanced up, curiosity in his gaze. “Yes?”
“I have another item of business that I would like to bring to the board.”
“What is it?” he asked, his head cocked to the side.
I pulled a pack of documents from a pocket on my apron and place it in front of him. “Admittance.”
The Dean studied the documents carefully. “These are in order,” he said begrudgingly. “But admittance requires—”
“Requires that I pull off an assassination without hard evidence against me, yes,” I said. “Which your board has just confirmed. Everything you brought forward was circumstantial at best.”
“Indeed.” The Dean sat down again.
"This could be a mistake," someone muttered. "We rely on the students' natural suspicion of each other. If she—"
The Dean cut them off with a swipe of his hand. The entire board watched him carefully as he considered.
“All in favor?” he asked suddenly.
The board, most of whom were still standing, started to raise their hands. Some of them abstained, but I had a clear majority.
The Dean slapped the papers on the table.
“Welcome to the Academy, [assassin](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).”
|
Cathy had always wondered what having power felt like.
Some people might have called her powerful in her days as an adventurer, with her extensive knowledge of poisons and the knife-fighting skill to take down any opponent she came across. But no matter how skilled she became at dealing death, no matter how many foes she slayed or how much treasure she collected, she knew she was never anything but a lowly mercenary, dismissed without a second thought even as she was feared. And when her lower back began to ache and her movements began to slow, she had nothing but the cooking talent she could salvage from her experience with poison. And the only person more overlooked than a mercenary is a lunch lady.
Then she found Shady Sam's School for Assassins and Mercenaries, more popularly known as Murder Academy. A vast maze of beaten-up wooden classrooms where the janitors cleaned blood and mysterious poison stains off the walls daily and the only thing more twisted than the staircase layout was the tapestry of alliances and betrayals that made up the students' (and instructors') social lives.
There, she still had no power. But she had love, and that was the next best thing.
In a twisted web of liars and traitors, a neutral party is a wonderful thing. So what started as one-off greetings turned into long conversations where the students felt free to finally break down and spill their souls, telling their secrets to the one person they knew would never exploit them.
Cathy loved the students. She listened to them and gave them advice. She reveled in the success of Amelia finally hitting her first bullseye with a hidden crossbow. She joyfully congratulated Johnathan for successfully brewing his first poison. She took care of all of them, memorizing and planning around the allergies of students who were unable to reveal such a deadly weakness to any of their peers. And because of her effort, people finally noticed her, cared about her.
But Cathy's dreams of power always lingered in the back of her mind. When Timmy came to her crying after having lost his friend to the crossfire of a school gang war, she seethed at being able to do nothing but wipe away his tears. When Margaret sobbed over being forced to betray her best friend to avoid failing out of Advanced Scheming Class, Cathy raged over being able to do nothing but pat her head and spout empty lies about how everything would be ok.
Then Shady Sam himself framed Cathy and tried to fire her, simply for being too close to the students.
...
Cathy stretched to try to ease the stiffness in her lower back. The cushions her students had provided helped alleviate much of the discomfort, but the rattling and shaking of her chair still hurt her tired old bones. She would never tell the students carrying her, of course; the radiant smiles of Andrew and his gang when they offered had brought a tear to her eye, and Cathy would do nothing to take that away from them.
Cathy shut her eyes for a moment, and let the echoes of crackling flame, crashing wood, and the war cries of her students echo around her. She felt the cushions of the throne they gave her sway beneath her, and though she knew she shouldn't be pleased by such tacky gaudiness, a smile crept across her face anyway.
She opened her eyes, and the flickering flames were reflected in them. The stone statue which stood out front of the school, symbolizing its eminence and corruption, crashed to the cobblestones and shattered into a thousand pieces, pulled down by a small army of students.
Cathy's grin widened.
The scream of another conniving, worthless, power-hungry instructor rang out from the burning ruins of what was once the school. A small number of teachers against a horde of students unified for the first time? The instructors never stood a chance.
Finally. Power.
Cathy leaned forward in her elevated throne, and yelled with as much power as her reedy voice could muster, "Bring me Shady Sam's head!" The student's echoed her cry, and a wave of cheers rose to swirl the ashes floating through the sky. Cathy fingered the crown of thorns that Emily had made for her, before decisively placing it on her head.
"I could get used to this"
|
|
[WP] You make the best of every situation, after all when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, and when a witch gives you a curse that turns you into a hundred foot abomination well...
|
Catherine was a month into a solo walking tour of the southern english coastline when the storm hit and she stumbled, quite by accident, upon the monster.
It’d been a sunny day, if not warm (rarely, the Californian thought, was any part of England warm), as she’d ambled along the rough-hewn cliffs, following her guidebook: *The Vintage Coastal Walkways and Pubs of North Devon*. Then the sky above suddenly darkened, as if God had laid a towel down over it.
*Not forecast.*
Catherine shivered even before the rain. She was stuck halfway between the village she’d left two hours ago, and the next town on her list. “Great. Thank you England. Your weather is as reliable as your public transport.”
The clouds twisted into a gray, hulking mass, like the crushed steel of a multi-car accident, veined blood-red by flashing forks of lightning.
She’d been offered maybe two hundred cups of tea since being in the country, but she disliked the drink and had never accepted one. Now, strangely, she craved a ‘cuppa’. A big hot mug of it. With milk. And two sugar. Heck, she’d even take a scone to go with it.
The swollen clouds hung so low that Catherine thought, if she craned her neck, she could probably drink from them. Then the rain came, and it didn’t so much as fall as it lashed her skin in icy waves; she held her hoody above her like a cotton umbrella, and ran.
The ancient lighthouse ahead — the only building she could make out through the potato soup of falling rain — must have been out of action for a long time. Its once silver and red body had been corroded to the colour of crispy autumn leaves; Catherine thought the whole building might turn to dust, like a leaf, if she touched it.
Still, she twisted the rusty handle and tugged the screeching door open, stepped into the darkness, and dragged the door shut behind.
“Why can’t their beer be as strong as their rain?” she grumbled, wringing out her hoodie and recreating the clouds and storm in miniature.
“Try the local ciders,” said a voice. “They tend to be much stronger. Tastier too, if you ask me.”
The voice was like galvanised steel and it shivered through Catherine as much as it spoke.
”He… hello?” she said. ”I‘m sorry, i didn’t think anyone would be in here.” She took out her phone and turned on the flashlight.
“Oh.” She looked at the creature’s gnarled feet just beside her, the curled toes, red nails. Looked at its green legs that seemed to have waves of seaweed covered skin sagging from them. Then she looked up at the barnacled face that smiled crookedly at her. ”I didn’t see you up there.”
Then, for the first time in her life, Catherine fainted.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
When she came to, she was lying on damp grass outside the lighthouse. The monster sat next to her. It’d fashioned something like a skirt out of tied together bedsheets and towels, but apart from that, it wore nothing but a smile.
”Sorry for the scare,” it said. “But I saw the storm coming a mile off. Literally. And so I hid in the lighthouse. See, when you’re as tall as me, it’s not hard to see storms early. Horizon dips much later.”
“Horizon dips much later,” she said, not knowing why — the words simply tumbled out like they might for a parrot.
“In Japan they used to build these fake massive hills,” said the monster, “that people could go up and look out from the tops of, to get a look at the incoming weather. And over there, to watch for tsunamis, too. Like I say, being up high helps.”
”And… you do that here? You look at the weather?”
”Yes. Exactly. I do that for the locals. If I see bad weather coming, I jump into the lighthouse, put the roof back on top, then flash the old light three times. After that, it’s just a matter of waiting for the storm to pass. Simple.”
”Simple,” she parroted. “And… you’re paid for that?”
”Yes.” It paused, shrugged. “Well, sort of. Paid in beer and food at the local pubs.”
”I’ve tasted the food in the pubs around here — and if that’s how they’re paying you, you’re getting ripped off.” What was she doing? Why was she talking to a monster? Making jokes with it? Had she gone utterly insane?
”If the storm’s very violent, I won’t wait it out. You see, sometimes it takes the fishing boats by surprise, can wreck them, even. So I wade out and gather them up or pull them in by rope and anchors. I’m paid actual money then.”
”Oh.”
”You’re not from around here, are you?” said the monster.
”Uh, no. America.”
”Well howdy, in that case. You know, I’ve always wanted to go to America.“
”Do you… do you have a name?”
He nodded. His mounds of chins bobbed up and down. “I used to be called Daniel.“
”Used to be?”
“I used to be human, back before I got on the wrong side of a witch. I used to be treated like a human when I looked like one. But, well, no one bothers with my name these days. As easy just to point at me. Or say the beast, or monster, or freak.“
Catherine‘s heart stung. She’d been called similar names back at school. It was part of the reason she’d wanted to get away from it all. From her life. Catherine’s face had a raw, pink birthmark spread across her cheeks, like the wings of a sunburned moth.
Right now, looking at Daniel’s condition, her own faults didn’t seem so bad.
Only treated like a human when you looked like one. When you looked like one of *them*. How true, she thought.
”You shouldn’t let them speak to you like that,” said Catherine, flint striking sparks in her belly, threatening to light up her heart.
He sighed, the grass rustled. He lay back, his head by hers — although bigger than her entire body. “I’m sure you’re right. But, I’m lucky to have work at all. I don’t have much in the way of qualifications.”
Catherine thought for a while. Silently. The sun was — by some english miracle — out now, and the waters below the cliffs was calm and lapping.
She’d already tried to run away from her own problems. But she’d failed. They’d crossed the Atlantic with her. Problems like hers couldn’t just be left behind somewhere.
Problems like Daniel‘s couldn’t be, either.
Those kind of things had to be transformed instead. Seen through a different prism. Negative light twisted and turned into positive.
”What if,” she said, slowly, still thinking even as she spoke, “I could help you earn a lot of money? What if you didn’t have to hide each time there was a storm?“
”I’d say, eh, it’s not such a bad life I’ve got here,” he said. “Quiet, but not bad.”
“It could be better.” She paused, stood up. “No. No *could* about it. It *should* be better.”
Daniel sat up now. Looked at her with his two blue and beady eyes. “What have you got in mind?”
&#x200B;
Three weeks later, Catherine sat by the side of a loch in Scotland. Little boats bobbed up and down in front, filled both with tourists and locals. Word had wildfired about the appearance of the loch Gorman monster.
Besides Catherine were two mostly empty stalls. A couple of extra-small shirts with blurry picture of the giant monster rising from the loch, still hung up. A pile of key rings, too. But otherwise she’d sold out for the day.
*Splash.*
*Screams.*
Cameras flashing in the early evening dark as if the sun was making a daring attempt to capture the night.
Catherine couldn’t quite make out Daniel, even in the artificial light of the flashes, but she smiled just at the thought.
He loved this job. Couldn’t feel the miserable cold of the loch, but he could feel — in his heart — the thrill of the tourists, especially of the excited children. For the kids, he’d wave and pose, or cause a little excited turbulence.
He wasn’t ever ashamed at who he was. Or how he looked. Never asked to be human again.
*Because is was already*, Catherine thought, lightly tracing her butterfly birthmark with a finger.
Something about Daniel being happy made Catherine happy. And all the profit was going to him, for his education, or whatever he chose to do after — not that he knew that part yet.
An hour later, Daniel climbed out of the loch and shook and dripped himself dry, before thudding down next to her.
Catherine cracked open four ciders and poured them into pot.
Then she cracked a fourth for herself.
”Cheers,” Daniel said, picking up the pot in one hand. “Here’s to a warmer winter as the Californian coastal creature.”
”Cheers,” said Catherine. “Looking forward to it already.”
|
*When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you demons, make demonade.* That's what my uncle used to tell me. Pretty strong line if you ask me. Back then I didn't appreciate it though, how can any pre-adolescent kid appreciate anything that's not directly linked with instant satisfaction? Dopamine rush. This is what the kids of today are going for, and this is what the kids had always gone for. Nowadays it's Fortnite, Nickelodeon, Tik Tok, ASMR, Travis Scott Burger, Coca Cola. Back then it was football, hide and seek, picture books, ice-cream, Coca Cola. Kids love the moment, not the game.
Now, as a thirty-one-year-old male yoga teacher, I can safely state that I have grown to love the game, the process, and thus, the destination. I know why you are reading this, you expect me to amuse you with my painful, shocking HUMAN-TURNED-INTO-A-BEAST-WITH-MANY-LEGS-story, pretty similar to a coming-of-age story, but trust me, I won't disappoint. I'll give it to you.
I turned my lemons into lemonade when I took advantage of my spinal problem, which gives me a hard time when I walk but also supplies me with incredible flexibility, compared to that of the average human. So, I took my flexibility and transformed myself into a renowned yogi and a handsomely paid yoga instructor.
While at the peak of my career, I met this stunning girl. Rosa. She attended my classes for half a year, and it took some courage, but I finally asked her out. I knew it was unprofessional and all, but she was just *too cute*. And you should see those belly stretches. Good God... I asked, she said 'sure' and half a week later we met at a bar for a drink. I got an Old-Fashioned, she got a Zombie. Well, we didn't get one, but many. Too many maybe, the talk was good, the laughs were there, everything was in place. And then I took her home. At home, she wanted to try some strange sex positions, but I thought what the hell, I'm a yogi, she's a yogi, we can take it. However, it turned out to be dark magic instead of kamasutra. What can you do... She was a witch, just being herself. No grudges from me. Water under the bridge is what it is.
Now I'm this guy with a hundred legs, and in case you haven't yet seen me on the news, or Instagram, don't ask about my looks. I'm unsure myself about how can a creature like me sustain life. The ones that *have* seen me in person don't speak much. They just stand there, trying to prohibit their mouth from gaping open, but I know what they're thinking. They think that life in a body like mine is a curse. That my existence shouldn't be. But I beg to differ.
As I've told you before, I've learned to love the game, not the moment. I took my demons and squeezed them all the way to a gallon of demonade when I made myself a celebrity. People wanted to know about my case, the man with many legs. Who wouldn't? I went to a talk show, then another, and then another one. I can't do yoga anymore, but now I have fifteen million followers on Instagram. Every day I get offers from clothing brands, cosmetic brands, sports brands. Everybody wants me to advertise their stuff. Vans shoes, Gym leggings, energy drinks, fucking PlayStation 5, all of that. I made myself rich. I live as I want. I can't have sex anymore either, but sex and yoga are the only things I miss. Nothing else. And I can say, I've had enough of those two in the last ten years of my life, it's not the end of the world.
After all, most people can have sex, or yoga, but only a few can make seven million dollars in a single year. Life is good as it is... Shout-out to all the hot witches out there.
|
|
[WP] You make the best of every situation, after all when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, and when a witch gives you a curse that turns you into a hundred foot abomination well...
|
*They say beauty is only skin deep, but what of the man with a square mile of skin? Well, let us just say that I am lucky to be proportional, and luckier still to have learned how little that matters.*
*-The Giant of Bray Village*
***
It took Frida a half dozen approaches to speak to the giant, and when she did the boom of his response scared her away for an even dozen more. The other children didn't call her Frightful Frida for nothing.
It was only that thirteenth approach however, when Frida truly resolved to make a friend. She bought a baker's dozen of the fine, fluffy muffins Ms. Paulson made from the summer berries, and with her auspicious (she hoped) gift in hand she approached the giant once more. Frida dearly hoped he was hungry.
"Mr. Giant, I'm back!" Frida shouted.
She was ten years old at the end of that summer and tall for her age. She stood next to the first joint of the giant's toe, and when she jumped she could just barely see over the rest of his bare foot.
"Who's there?" said the giant. His voice held the tone of a whisper and the volume of a thunderclap and when he spoke it made her skin tingle.
"It's Frida!" Frida shouted.
"Little girl, I can hear you, you know. My ears are very large, my hearing very fine, even up here."
Frida craned her head back, trying to see his face. The giant wore the clothes he had been transformed in. The other villagers said he was timeless, that he didn't eat or sleep, that they had never once seen him move. They said his hair did not grow. Frida didn't know how they knew that, since his head was so often shrouded amongst the lowest clouds or lost in the spring foliage.
"Can you hear me now?" Frida whispered.
"Don't play games, child."
Frida gulped and fought the urge to run. Frightful Frida. The words boomed through her head in a childish singsong louder than the even giant's voice.
"What are you doing up there?" Frida said.
"Passing lifetimes. And, at times, watching."
"What are you watching?"
The giant paused. Muffins in hand Frida leapt nimbly up onto his big toe and climbed across his foot. She had never done it before, but today she had resolved to be brave. She had resolved to make a friend.
The giant did not move, and in time his voice wafted down to her. It was quiet, almost a strain to hear.
"Everything," the giant said.
And Frida stopped. 'Everything' was a very large concept.
She sat in silence upon the giant's foot for a time, the hair of his toes making a coarse but passable bed.
"Mr. Giant?"
"Yes?"
"In all of that everything, do you see a friend?"
She had thought his voice had been like thunder. She had been wrong. His laughter was the thunder. It filled up her little valley, and so close to the giant the beat of it was so loud that Frida felt it's rumble in her chest. It felt good. It felt like a friend should feel.
"No child, I don't see a friend. Not yet at least. There are a great many things in everything and some of them are fascinating, but very few of them are brave enough to talk to a mile high man."
*Frightful Frida, Frightful Frida!*
The voices rang in her head again and Frida drowned them in another muffin. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and belted her wish to the world.
"Do you want to be my friend?"
The giant began to move. His feet shifted, not quite a step although the tremor nearly threw her off. Far above, Frida saw the great columns of his legs bending at the knee as the giant crouched down, down, down. His face came into view. He wore a short, dark beard.
"No, no, no!" Friday shouted. "Stay up there!!!"
"Why?" the giant asked, still crouching.
"Because I'm Frightful Frida! Frightful! If you see me you won't want to be my friend, nobody does!"
With a loud, ear splitting grunt the giant settled onto his haunches. When Frida met his eyes she gasped, each of them was wider and taller than her, and the were the pale, perfect blue of the sky. He was beautiful.
And she was not.
"No!" Frida shouted, turning and running away across his foot. His hand fell like a great wall in front of her, his callouses were thick and heavily textured, like bulbous brick protrusions.
"Turn around, little one, and let me get a good look at you."
Frida did not want anyone to get a good look at her. She had wanted a friend, a true friend who could never even chance upon her face, an immobile, infinitely tall friend, who could know her for who she was and not what she looked like.
But there was a command in his voice and she was Frightful for a great many reasons. Frida turned.
He stared at her for several long seconds. Frida's skin was afire, the blush likely to boil it off. And then he smiled, perfectly, beautiful, his teeth extending as far across as the village.
"Frida, was it? Child, in all of the everything I have seen, I don't think I've ever seen a face so beautiful as my newest friend's."
Frida didn't know what to say to that. "I brought you muffins," she whispered, raising the box. "Thirteen of them but I ate two."
"Eleven," he said, chuckling.
"Uh huh."
"Frida, would you like to see everything?"
She nodded and he lay his hand flat. She clambered on, her body shaking, the other children's voices still tearing through her. But the giant was beautiful and he'd seen her and everything else and he'd said...could it be?
They went so far up it grew cold and her breath misted faintly, and as they went he spoke to her.
"Frida, dear. Have you ever heard the saying 'beauty is only skin deep?' Well dear, I have found it to be true. When I was young I could not see beauty. I thought I could and I thought I had it, but I lacked a certain something. Call it perspective, though that is hardly sufficient. And well...my curse is bad for many things. Makes doorways quite the pain, makes women...well, nevermind. What I am saying, dear friend, is that when you spend eternity watching everything, you learn something of real beauty. Ah, here we are."
They stopped and the giant turned a few degrees west, and far out on the horizon lay a world she had never imagined.
"They call it an ocean. This one is peculiar, the water is very, very, warm. Like a great hot spring and twice as soothing because it seems endless. In my youth I swam idly in those waters, luxuriating in the warmth of their embrace."
Frida didn't have a word for how blue that great expanse of water was. It seemed like a great, placid expanse, hardly moving, a perfect plane for the ships that plied it, their grand white sails only little specks.
"When you asked to be my friend, you reminded me of that ocean."
It was too beautiful for words and they were too high. Up here she felt powerful and brave and nothing at all like a scared little village girl.
"You said you brought muffins?" The giant said.
"Yes," she squeaked.
"Might I have one?"
"But how?"
He opened his mouth a great, gaping target, and Frida tore her gaze from the sea to throw whole muffins into her new friend's mouth. She dearly hoped he liked them.
------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
|
*When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you demons, make demonade.* That's what my uncle used to tell me. Pretty strong line if you ask me. Back then I didn't appreciate it though, how can any pre-adolescent kid appreciate anything that's not directly linked with instant satisfaction? Dopamine rush. This is what the kids of today are going for, and this is what the kids had always gone for. Nowadays it's Fortnite, Nickelodeon, Tik Tok, ASMR, Travis Scott Burger, Coca Cola. Back then it was football, hide and seek, picture books, ice-cream, Coca Cola. Kids love the moment, not the game.
Now, as a thirty-one-year-old male yoga teacher, I can safely state that I have grown to love the game, the process, and thus, the destination. I know why you are reading this, you expect me to amuse you with my painful, shocking HUMAN-TURNED-INTO-A-BEAST-WITH-MANY-LEGS-story, pretty similar to a coming-of-age story, but trust me, I won't disappoint. I'll give it to you.
I turned my lemons into lemonade when I took advantage of my spinal problem, which gives me a hard time when I walk but also supplies me with incredible flexibility, compared to that of the average human. So, I took my flexibility and transformed myself into a renowned yogi and a handsomely paid yoga instructor.
While at the peak of my career, I met this stunning girl. Rosa. She attended my classes for half a year, and it took some courage, but I finally asked her out. I knew it was unprofessional and all, but she was just *too cute*. And you should see those belly stretches. Good God... I asked, she said 'sure' and half a week later we met at a bar for a drink. I got an Old-Fashioned, she got a Zombie. Well, we didn't get one, but many. Too many maybe, the talk was good, the laughs were there, everything was in place. And then I took her home. At home, she wanted to try some strange sex positions, but I thought what the hell, I'm a yogi, she's a yogi, we can take it. However, it turned out to be dark magic instead of kamasutra. What can you do... She was a witch, just being herself. No grudges from me. Water under the bridge is what it is.
Now I'm this guy with a hundred legs, and in case you haven't yet seen me on the news, or Instagram, don't ask about my looks. I'm unsure myself about how can a creature like me sustain life. The ones that *have* seen me in person don't speak much. They just stand there, trying to prohibit their mouth from gaping open, but I know what they're thinking. They think that life in a body like mine is a curse. That my existence shouldn't be. But I beg to differ.
As I've told you before, I've learned to love the game, not the moment. I took my demons and squeezed them all the way to a gallon of demonade when I made myself a celebrity. People wanted to know about my case, the man with many legs. Who wouldn't? I went to a talk show, then another, and then another one. I can't do yoga anymore, but now I have fifteen million followers on Instagram. Every day I get offers from clothing brands, cosmetic brands, sports brands. Everybody wants me to advertise their stuff. Vans shoes, Gym leggings, energy drinks, fucking PlayStation 5, all of that. I made myself rich. I live as I want. I can't have sex anymore either, but sex and yoga are the only things I miss. Nothing else. And I can say, I've had enough of those two in the last ten years of my life, it's not the end of the world.
After all, most people can have sex, or yoga, but only a few can make seven million dollars in a single year. Life is good as it is... Shout-out to all the hot witches out there.
|
|
[WP] You make the best of every situation, after all when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, and when a witch gives you a curse that turns you into a hundred foot abomination well...
|
*They say beauty is only skin deep, but what of the man with a square mile of skin? Well, let us just say that I am lucky to be proportional, and luckier still to have learned how little that matters.*
*-The Giant of Bray Village*
***
It took Frida a half dozen approaches to speak to the giant, and when she did the boom of his response scared her away for an even dozen more. The other children didn't call her Frightful Frida for nothing.
It was only that thirteenth approach however, when Frida truly resolved to make a friend. She bought a baker's dozen of the fine, fluffy muffins Ms. Paulson made from the summer berries, and with her auspicious (she hoped) gift in hand she approached the giant once more. Frida dearly hoped he was hungry.
"Mr. Giant, I'm back!" Frida shouted.
She was ten years old at the end of that summer and tall for her age. She stood next to the first joint of the giant's toe, and when she jumped she could just barely see over the rest of his bare foot.
"Who's there?" said the giant. His voice held the tone of a whisper and the volume of a thunderclap and when he spoke it made her skin tingle.
"It's Frida!" Frida shouted.
"Little girl, I can hear you, you know. My ears are very large, my hearing very fine, even up here."
Frida craned her head back, trying to see his face. The giant wore the clothes he had been transformed in. The other villagers said he was timeless, that he didn't eat or sleep, that they had never once seen him move. They said his hair did not grow. Frida didn't know how they knew that, since his head was so often shrouded amongst the lowest clouds or lost in the spring foliage.
"Can you hear me now?" Frida whispered.
"Don't play games, child."
Frida gulped and fought the urge to run. Frightful Frida. The words boomed through her head in a childish singsong louder than the even giant's voice.
"What are you doing up there?" Frida said.
"Passing lifetimes. And, at times, watching."
"What are you watching?"
The giant paused. Muffins in hand Frida leapt nimbly up onto his big toe and climbed across his foot. She had never done it before, but today she had resolved to be brave. She had resolved to make a friend.
The giant did not move, and in time his voice wafted down to her. It was quiet, almost a strain to hear.
"Everything," the giant said.
And Frida stopped. 'Everything' was a very large concept.
She sat in silence upon the giant's foot for a time, the hair of his toes making a coarse but passable bed.
"Mr. Giant?"
"Yes?"
"In all of that everything, do you see a friend?"
She had thought his voice had been like thunder. She had been wrong. His laughter was the thunder. It filled up her little valley, and so close to the giant the beat of it was so loud that Frida felt it's rumble in her chest. It felt good. It felt like a friend should feel.
"No child, I don't see a friend. Not yet at least. There are a great many things in everything and some of them are fascinating, but very few of them are brave enough to talk to a mile high man."
*Frightful Frida, Frightful Frida!*
The voices rang in her head again and Frida drowned them in another muffin. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and belted her wish to the world.
"Do you want to be my friend?"
The giant began to move. His feet shifted, not quite a step although the tremor nearly threw her off. Far above, Frida saw the great columns of his legs bending at the knee as the giant crouched down, down, down. His face came into view. He wore a short, dark beard.
"No, no, no!" Friday shouted. "Stay up there!!!"
"Why?" the giant asked, still crouching.
"Because I'm Frightful Frida! Frightful! If you see me you won't want to be my friend, nobody does!"
With a loud, ear splitting grunt the giant settled onto his haunches. When Frida met his eyes she gasped, each of them was wider and taller than her, and the were the pale, perfect blue of the sky. He was beautiful.
And she was not.
"No!" Frida shouted, turning and running away across his foot. His hand fell like a great wall in front of her, his callouses were thick and heavily textured, like bulbous brick protrusions.
"Turn around, little one, and let me get a good look at you."
Frida did not want anyone to get a good look at her. She had wanted a friend, a true friend who could never even chance upon her face, an immobile, infinitely tall friend, who could know her for who she was and not what she looked like.
But there was a command in his voice and she was Frightful for a great many reasons. Frida turned.
He stared at her for several long seconds. Frida's skin was afire, the blush likely to boil it off. And then he smiled, perfectly, beautiful, his teeth extending as far across as the village.
"Frida, was it? Child, in all of the everything I have seen, I don't think I've ever seen a face so beautiful as my newest friend's."
Frida didn't know what to say to that. "I brought you muffins," she whispered, raising the box. "Thirteen of them but I ate two."
"Eleven," he said, chuckling.
"Uh huh."
"Frida, would you like to see everything?"
She nodded and he lay his hand flat. She clambered on, her body shaking, the other children's voices still tearing through her. But the giant was beautiful and he'd seen her and everything else and he'd said...could it be?
They went so far up it grew cold and her breath misted faintly, and as they went he spoke to her.
"Frida, dear. Have you ever heard the saying 'beauty is only skin deep?' Well dear, I have found it to be true. When I was young I could not see beauty. I thought I could and I thought I had it, but I lacked a certain something. Call it perspective, though that is hardly sufficient. And well...my curse is bad for many things. Makes doorways quite the pain, makes women...well, nevermind. What I am saying, dear friend, is that when you spend eternity watching everything, you learn something of real beauty. Ah, here we are."
They stopped and the giant turned a few degrees west, and far out on the horizon lay a world she had never imagined.
"They call it an ocean. This one is peculiar, the water is very, very, warm. Like a great hot spring and twice as soothing because it seems endless. In my youth I swam idly in those waters, luxuriating in the warmth of their embrace."
Frida didn't have a word for how blue that great expanse of water was. It seemed like a great, placid expanse, hardly moving, a perfect plane for the ships that plied it, their grand white sails only little specks.
"When you asked to be my friend, you reminded me of that ocean."
It was too beautiful for words and they were too high. Up here she felt powerful and brave and nothing at all like a scared little village girl.
"You said you brought muffins?" The giant said.
"Yes," she squeaked.
"Might I have one?"
"But how?"
He opened his mouth a great, gaping target, and Frida tore her gaze from the sea to throw whole muffins into her new friend's mouth. She dearly hoped he liked them.
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If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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Catherine was a month into a solo walking tour of the southern english coastline when the storm hit and she stumbled, quite by accident, upon the monster.
It’d been a sunny day, if not warm (rarely, the Californian thought, was any part of England warm), as she’d ambled along the rough-hewn cliffs, following her guidebook: *The Vintage Coastal Walkways and Pubs of North Devon*. Then the sky above suddenly darkened, as if God had laid a towel down over it.
*Not forecast.*
Catherine shivered even before the rain. She was stuck halfway between the village she’d left two hours ago, and the next town on her list. “Great. Thank you England. Your weather is as reliable as your public transport.”
The clouds twisted into a gray, hulking mass, like the crushed steel of a multi-car accident, veined blood-red by flashing forks of lightning.
She’d been offered maybe two hundred cups of tea since being in the country, but she disliked the drink and had never accepted one. Now, strangely, she craved a ‘cuppa’. A big hot mug of it. With milk. And two sugar. Heck, she’d even take a scone to go with it.
The swollen clouds hung so low that Catherine thought, if she craned her neck, she could probably drink from them. Then the rain came, and it didn’t so much as fall as it lashed her skin in icy waves; she held her hoody above her like a cotton umbrella, and ran.
The ancient lighthouse ahead — the only building she could make out through the potato soup of falling rain — must have been out of action for a long time. Its once silver and red body had been corroded to the colour of crispy autumn leaves; Catherine thought the whole building might turn to dust, like a leaf, if she touched it.
Still, she twisted the rusty handle and tugged the screeching door open, stepped into the darkness, and dragged the door shut behind.
“Why can’t their beer be as strong as their rain?” she grumbled, wringing out her hoodie and recreating the clouds and storm in miniature.
“Try the local ciders,” said a voice. “They tend to be much stronger. Tastier too, if you ask me.”
The voice was like galvanised steel and it shivered through Catherine as much as it spoke.
”He… hello?” she said. ”I‘m sorry, i didn’t think anyone would be in here.” She took out her phone and turned on the flashlight.
“Oh.” She looked at the creature’s gnarled feet just beside her, the curled toes, red nails. Looked at its green legs that seemed to have waves of seaweed covered skin sagging from them. Then she looked up at the barnacled face that smiled crookedly at her. ”I didn’t see you up there.”
Then, for the first time in her life, Catherine fainted.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
When she came to, she was lying on damp grass outside the lighthouse. The monster sat next to her. It’d fashioned something like a skirt out of tied together bedsheets and towels, but apart from that, it wore nothing but a smile.
”Sorry for the scare,” it said. “But I saw the storm coming a mile off. Literally. And so I hid in the lighthouse. See, when you’re as tall as me, it’s not hard to see storms early. Horizon dips much later.”
“Horizon dips much later,” she said, not knowing why — the words simply tumbled out like they might for a parrot.
“In Japan they used to build these fake massive hills,” said the monster, “that people could go up and look out from the tops of, to get a look at the incoming weather. And over there, to watch for tsunamis, too. Like I say, being up high helps.”
”And… you do that here? You look at the weather?”
”Yes. Exactly. I do that for the locals. If I see bad weather coming, I jump into the lighthouse, put the roof back on top, then flash the old light three times. After that, it’s just a matter of waiting for the storm to pass. Simple.”
”Simple,” she parroted. “And… you’re paid for that?”
”Yes.” It paused, shrugged. “Well, sort of. Paid in beer and food at the local pubs.”
”I’ve tasted the food in the pubs around here — and if that’s how they’re paying you, you’re getting ripped off.” What was she doing? Why was she talking to a monster? Making jokes with it? Had she gone utterly insane?
”If the storm’s very violent, I won’t wait it out. You see, sometimes it takes the fishing boats by surprise, can wreck them, even. So I wade out and gather them up or pull them in by rope and anchors. I’m paid actual money then.”
”Oh.”
”You’re not from around here, are you?” said the monster.
”Uh, no. America.”
”Well howdy, in that case. You know, I’ve always wanted to go to America.“
”Do you… do you have a name?”
He nodded. His mounds of chins bobbed up and down. “I used to be called Daniel.“
”Used to be?”
“I used to be human, back before I got on the wrong side of a witch. I used to be treated like a human when I looked like one. But, well, no one bothers with my name these days. As easy just to point at me. Or say the beast, or monster, or freak.“
Catherine‘s heart stung. She’d been called similar names back at school. It was part of the reason she’d wanted to get away from it all. From her life. Catherine’s face had a raw, pink birthmark spread across her cheeks, like the wings of a sunburned moth.
Right now, looking at Daniel’s condition, her own faults didn’t seem so bad.
Only treated like a human when you looked like one. When you looked like one of *them*. How true, she thought.
”You shouldn’t let them speak to you like that,” said Catherine, flint striking sparks in her belly, threatening to light up her heart.
He sighed, the grass rustled. He lay back, his head by hers — although bigger than her entire body. “I’m sure you’re right. But, I’m lucky to have work at all. I don’t have much in the way of qualifications.”
Catherine thought for a while. Silently. The sun was — by some english miracle — out now, and the waters below the cliffs was calm and lapping.
She’d already tried to run away from her own problems. But she’d failed. They’d crossed the Atlantic with her. Problems like hers couldn’t just be left behind somewhere.
Problems like Daniel‘s couldn’t be, either.
Those kind of things had to be transformed instead. Seen through a different prism. Negative light twisted and turned into positive.
”What if,” she said, slowly, still thinking even as she spoke, “I could help you earn a lot of money? What if you didn’t have to hide each time there was a storm?“
”I’d say, eh, it’s not such a bad life I’ve got here,” he said. “Quiet, but not bad.”
“It could be better.” She paused, stood up. “No. No *could* about it. It *should* be better.”
Daniel sat up now. Looked at her with his two blue and beady eyes. “What have you got in mind?”
&#x200B;
Three weeks later, Catherine sat by the side of a loch in Scotland. Little boats bobbed up and down in front, filled both with tourists and locals. Word had wildfired about the appearance of the loch Gorman monster.
Besides Catherine were two mostly empty stalls. A couple of extra-small shirts with blurry picture of the giant monster rising from the loch, still hung up. A pile of key rings, too. But otherwise she’d sold out for the day.
*Splash.*
*Screams.*
Cameras flashing in the early evening dark as if the sun was making a daring attempt to capture the night.
Catherine couldn’t quite make out Daniel, even in the artificial light of the flashes, but she smiled just at the thought.
He loved this job. Couldn’t feel the miserable cold of the loch, but he could feel — in his heart — the thrill of the tourists, especially of the excited children. For the kids, he’d wave and pose, or cause a little excited turbulence.
He wasn’t ever ashamed at who he was. Or how he looked. Never asked to be human again.
*Because is was already*, Catherine thought, lightly tracing her butterfly birthmark with a finger.
Something about Daniel being happy made Catherine happy. And all the profit was going to him, for his education, or whatever he chose to do after — not that he knew that part yet.
An hour later, Daniel climbed out of the loch and shook and dripped himself dry, before thudding down next to her.
Catherine cracked open four ciders and poured them into pot.
Then she cracked a fourth for herself.
”Cheers,” Daniel said, picking up the pot in one hand. “Here’s to a warmer winter as the Californian coastal creature.”
”Cheers,” said Catherine. “Looking forward to it already.”
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[WP] I always thought of the angels as flying benevolent God servants. Some bible descriptions said that they were more than 20ft tall so I expected them to be mighty. But now that they are here, I fell like a jellyfish under an aircraft carrier, unable to comprehend what could cause such a shadow.
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Light flooded the entire globe, when the Gates of Heaven opened.
Angels were coming to help us, and everybody was curious as to what they look like.
I've personally have always been fan of both fiction, and fantasy, so I've seen quite a lot of different depictions of angels, even read the bible to see there what they look like, so I was pretty open minded, thinking that they might look in a million ways.
But...But when I saw the shadows they casted I was...I was confuse...
"What could ever cause such a weird shadow?"
I thought to myself.
&#x200B;
The blinding light decreased in intensity by the minute, so I could see more and more.
The shadows I could see were winding, snaking across the ground, looking like leafless branches.
I tried to look up, but the light was still too strong for my eyes to look directly at them.
I tried to search my memories for what could ever make such a shadow, but I couldn't imagine it.
&#x200B;
Then, the light dimmed a lot, and finally, I could take a glance at the angels directly.
They were...beautiful, and mesmerising.
Such a form that was described in many novels, and bible alike.
And now, I could actually see them in real life.
They were...they were a mass of light.
&#x200B;
A huge mass of light, covered in thin, but almost endless pieces of cloth, winding around them.
The pieces of cloth were the ones making the shadows, while the mass of light was continuously dimming, and shrinking in size.
The pieces of cloth were getting shorter by the minute, starting to cover the angels true form.
"They are transforming into another form."
I thought to myself.
&#x200B;
As the angels were getting closer to the ground, I was curious on what form they might take.
Will they be winged humans, of unbelievable beauty?
Or will they be in a form that human words can't describe?
Even now, as bodies of pure light, the emanate warmth, safety, and a holy aura, that is hard for me to properly experience, let alone explain.
Not long after they appeared, close to me, 2 bodies of light now condensed into roughly human sizes, and humanoid shapes, with the pieces of cloth quickly moving around them.
It seems...It seems they will take on human like shapes.
&#x200B;
In front of me there were 2 angels, that slowly took up human forms.
One, became a woman, tall, with long red hair, and perfect sandy skin.
She had pure sky blue eyes, and blood red lips.
The other, became a man, extremely tall, with short pitch black hair, and perfect pale white skin.
He had pure sky blue eyes.
The pieces of clothes around them finished transforming.
The woman, got a spring green dress, with a sword hanging at her waist, while the man got a royal blue suit, with a 2 handed sword tied to his back.
"\*%$\^$&%$\^"
The woman said, before raising a finger and smiling.
She gestured me to wait, realising that I couldn't understand them.
&#x200B;
Soon, both the woman and man started trying and speaking syllables.
Not long after, they could properly speak English.
"Greetings, little human, we came to help you."
The woman said, in the sweetest, and the most soothing voice I've ever heard.
"Help us? Finally we will get a hand to deal with diseases, famine, and things like this?"
I asked, but the nerd in me already knew the answer when I saw the weapons.
The woman giggled, while the man scoffed.
"We came to teach you how to battle against demons.
A war is coming, and it will be waged on Earth."
The man said, in a hoarse, powerful voice.
&#x200B;
Right then, a heatwave washed over the place we were at.
Both angels sighed.
"It happened already. We have barely a few months."
The woman said.
I quickly entered my house, with the 2 following me.
I searched the internet, and saw that a humongous flaming hole appeared in Romania.
It was the Gates to Hell.
I sighed.
&#x200B;
Looking back to the 2 angels, I smiled, and steeled my nerves.
"When we will start training?"
I asked.
"Now."
The woman said, smiling, while bright light flooded my house, changing it completely.
The next few months were actually years in that white room, where everything could be done.
When we came out of my house, war horns flooded the skies, and earth...war was here.
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A bit different than I imagined. Scarier. Horrifying actually. There were three of them. All hovering ahead in a terrifying triangle. Imagine the essence of hell and dirt and blood and history all mixed into one being, that’s what they look like. Their giant, no colored eyes stare down at me as I sit on the bench. The sky had become a deep purple and low hum echoed through the valley. Then, it spoke. Not aloud, just to me.
“Why are you here?” it asks me.
I know what it’s asking. I sit there, and just look at it. It’s honestly beautiful, but in a terrifying way.
Then it speaks again, this time I can’t tell if it spoke aloud or just to me.
“You have disrupted God’s Plan, you should’ve died….about one hour ago.”
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[WP] You have the ability to transfer your memories to anyone you want. You go out on vacations, on adventures and come back and sell those experiences for a hefty price.
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I stood and watched as they ran inside. There was more I wanted to say, but they were in such a hurry that they just slapped a check in one hand and swiped the vial from my other.
I don't know how long I stood there for. My arm was still stretched out, their check just hanging limply between my fingers. I look down at it.
*$250,000*
They even added a bonus. They weren't rich, I knew that for a fact. If they were well off, they definitely aren't anymore after all this. I wouldn't be surprised if this was the last of their savings.
I thought about walking in and handing them back the check and explaining to them that there's no way I can charge them. Maybe they'll be touched by the nice gesture. Maybe a cute nurse notices my virtuous deed and we start up a conversation. Maybe the couple refuses and push the check back towards me.
"You've earned it." they'll say. Maybe.
Or maybe they wouldn't even notice I was standing there next to them. Maybe they'd be simply be too preoccupied watching as their little boy experiences the memories I've made for him for the last 3 months. A world outside an ICU and free from tubes and monitors and ventilators and who knows what else. A life. A small portion of life, sure, but a normal life nonetheless.
I notice something written in the notes.
*For Harold. Thank you.*
I turn towards my car, ripping the check to pieces as I walk.
Maybe I've already been paid for this one.
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For as long as I can recall, I have had a special ability. As a child, teachers told me I was gifted, unique. I didn't feel that different to any one else, it is just that I have a... knack, I suppose of transferring memories into other people's minds. Letting them live vicariously, through my experiences, you could say.
It all began when I received my first letter.
Thank you, for letting me escape my life for a while. Life can be hard, especially when I think too much. But you let me escape my existence for a short time. I don't know how I can thank you.
From that small seed of encouragement, I decided to help as many people as I could. I labored every waking hour of every single day to share with people with my memories and experiences. It was not well paid, initially. But the more I shared, the more the interest grew, until it was exponential and everyone wanted my memories. Deals were made, money exchanged hands, and I was suddenly being paid to visit exotic locations, and experience adventures, so that I can share those experiences too.
One of my old teachers came and visited me at a book signing a couple of years ago. "I'm glad you kept up the writing, you always were gifted." And that, is the abridged story of my writing career so far. I plan to share as many memories, whether experienced or imagined, for many more years yet.
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[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?”
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"Why have you stopped for this long?"
A questioning hand gently touches my shoulder, shaking me out of my meditation.
"It's just a perfect day" I say my eyes never leaving the horizon.
The ocean perfectly frozen at my toes. The sunset a kaleidoscope of pinks, purples and blue hues.
I slowly turn and walk back to my beach chair slumping down into it, creaking slightly. I tilt my head towards the other chair silently offering a seat to the stranger.
"It's been a year" he softly says slinking into the chair silently.
I nod slightly briefly rearranging my shawl and then picking up my cup of hot chocolate. I feel it's warmth and sigh.
"She loved the sea."
"I know" he says his stare fixed on the permanent setting sun.
"Her favourite place in the entire world, even after she got sick, she always wanted to be here" I say placing my mug down.
"Even when the doctors said the trip would be too risky, she asked me to bring her here... to watch the sunset one last time." Tears well in my eyes.
"She sat where you are now. We waited for this perfect moment, And in this moment I took her hand and realised she had missed it."
"Your perfect moment?" The stranger reaches out and softly holds my hand.
The pain in my chest is unbearable, hot tears stream down my face.
"She just wanted to watch the sunset one last time" I try to say.
The stranger holds my hand just a little tighter.
"She just wanted to be with you, on your beach, hand in hand and you gave her that. Her final moments were perfect." He loosens his grip and I slip my hand free so as to cover my face.
"Is this why it's been a year?" He asks.
I pull my shawl tight, quickly walking back to where he first saw me standing, at the water's edge.
"Its just a perfect day" I say trying desperately to stop my tears.
"You know you don't have to punish yourself" he says still sitting in her beach chair.
"I'm not!" I huff.
"You are." He says leaning back.
"So what?"
"So why continue stopping time here?"
I angrily turn towards him and stare into the void.
"What choice do I have? I *failed* her" I almost yell at him.
"She wants to see you" The stranger asks quietly laying his bony hands in his lap.
"But why? It's been so long? I lived on without her!" I cry, my body shaking.
"She wanted you to live a full life even if it was without her. She only ever wanted you to be happy and she still wants to see you"
"I can see her?" I ask puzzled.
"Isn't it time to move on?" He says sliding out of her chair. He glides towards me, reaching out his hand.
"Enough punishment, this is not hell, limbo or heaven just the next. She has been waiting for you, on her beach just like this but where time flows freely. Where everyday is more beautiful than the last but not perfect, never perfect. As she says there is always one thing missing."
The stranger, death takes my hand.
"Havent you suffered enough? Isn't it time to end this and create her perfect day with you?"
"Yes" I say holding death's hand tightly and closing my eyes, I whisper "I only ever want her to be happy"
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For a while, the clinking of knitting needles were the only sound. The phone beside me was powered off as the charger soaked up the sun. It honestly surprised me that it still worked when I couldn't feel its warmth anymore... But I was glad that it did; I hate when it's too quiet.
The lack of music was alright for the first week, but by that next Monday, I couldn't take the silence. Bathing in cold water I could take. Having to eat cold food was fine...
But when it was too silent, all I could do was think, and I had done enough of that.
I was almost finished knitting a blue and black scarf when I heard them. "I have been looking everywhere for you, motherfucker!" Cold water splashed at my insides. I turned my head so slowly, wincing internally at the sharp spike of pain across my throat...
There was a person standing not two feet from me in a purple hoodie and black jeans. With the hood pulled up, I could barely see the tight curls of black hair. Their eyes were sharp, hard amber accented by kohl and ruby eyeshadow. They looked... miserable, perhaps more miserable than I felt...
'Hellava time for hysteria to kick in,' I thought. I was honestly surprised it took so long for hallucinations to kick in.
Then they spoke, keeping me from turning back to my knitting. "Why did you stop time for a year?"
The click of metal on stone woke me from the shocked stupor. I looked down at the scarf on the ground and sighed; that was going to be a pain to fix.
"Understand sign?" I asked, but they just looked confused; no hallucination of mine would forget I couldn't speak... They had to be real. They had to be-
Fear gripped my insides followed closely by shame. I fumbled for my phone and pulled up the note app I'd used to read my notes back to me.
"There are others?"
The robotic voice was stiff and awkward, but it was better than the alternative; I'd hate to play charades with the first person I'd really seen in 379 days.
They blinked rapidly before groaning. "You didn't know?"
"No."
"You've got to be shitting me." They flop onto a bench rather dramatically. "There's dozens of us!"
"I am not. I haven't met anyone else."
"Ho-" They cut themselves off with a shake of the head, dislodging the hood. "Now that you know, will you fucking knock it off?"
"Can't."
"Why the fuck not?!"
"Need to finish first." I pointed to the scarf still on the ground. "I have six scarves and two hats left. Then I need to take them to the shelter. Then I want to finish a couple of books and return to the lake. I wanted to see Rome, New York, and Tokyo, but I won't make you wait that long." My throat twinged, and I winced involuntary. "Then I will be ready to die."
"Wha?"
It had been ages since I last laughed, but seeing the confusion on the stranger's face, I couldn't help but dissolve into giggles even though it was excruciating. The distorted, wheezing sound pulled me from my amusement quicker than the pain had done in months.
My fingers hooked in the collar of my turtleneck and pulled it down to expose still seeping bandages. Despite the fact that I still bled and breathed and cried and... everything, wounds don't heal when time is suspended.
The anger spilled out of the stranger and seemed to leave them reeling. "What's... what's your name?" They whispered, suddenly sounding remorseful. "I'm Bee..."
I smiled. "Luka."
Bee rubbed their arm. "I'm... sorry for-for yelling at you. I didn't... I didn't know."
"How could you? We've never met before."
"Did you leave evidence? Will they..." Bee pauses and turns paler than before. "Will they catch whoever did... this?"
"Hope so. I wrote his name down: Michael Hartford."
"Good." There was a hesitation in their body when they picked up my scarf and set it beside me. They looked lost and hopeless and confused and... utterly destroyed; I wouldn't be surprised if I looked like that a year ago. "Is the lake nice?"
"Not really, but it's not like I can change the venue if I want him caught."
"Right."
Silence crept back in, thick, opressive... and all that I had known when I wandered the woods by the lake and decided that I would do the things I'd always wanted to do.
"Uh, Luka?" Bee held out their hand. "I've never seen Tokyo before... Do you want to see it with me?"
I nodded and took it without much contemplation. It would be nice to have someone around...
It would be nice not to be surrounded by silence.
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[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?”
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He didn't look like the sort of guy to be able to stop time. None of the telling features, like a third eye or that light-bending aura the Others dragged behind them. In fact, he was only wearing board shorts.
"It's been a whole year dude!" He pleaded.
I blinked, at first digesting that I was talking to another human. Then I shrugged and returned to sipping one of the last free cocktails I could track down.
"It's my GAP year," I eventually said. The guy kept hopping from foot to foot.
"Yeah, look, I get you're probably having a ripper time-"
"I am," I chuckled smugly.
"Cool, but see I was just about to score with this tennoutaten. I mean a real banger lass."
"Go on," I find my interest piquing, not because of his banal situation, but because he seemed to feel it important next to the fact entropy had tipped on it's side around him.
"Yeah, right? And so I popped one of those Viagra pills for a little extra oomph. Right as it kicked in you stopped everything. Been trying to find you since."
"Why?" I blurt out, genuinely at a lack of eloquence. I'd seen proton decay first hand, galaxies fading beyond their visible horizons, and the fireworks of every black hole's final moments. I had mastered time to taken one short break and...
"Cause uh..." he danced a little, and I noticed he'd clearly been shuffling around with his crotch redacted from the world this whole time.
"Cause it ain't wearing off."
"For a whole _year_?"
I stop myself from letting my voice break in a whine; that was a referred pain I hadn't felt in a while. He hopped around some more while I fell into some thought.
"I've been drinking this whole time, how come I'm recovering from that?" I eventually blurt, and he startles allowing me to spot his blight. He blushes, and I realise how far my face had sympathetically contorted to match the layout of his pants.
"Come on dude, just start it back up for an hour or so."
"No," the tone is a bit harsh, I really did feel for the fella, but something about him bothered me. He sighs and begins awkwardly gesturing with his hands, maintaining the same uncomfortable looking pose.
"Same reason you don't knock out an entire city the first step you take frozen by fusing your molecules with other air molecules."
His tone had entirely changed, scholarly, almost business like. I blink (all three eyes) and stare at the man as he begins unravelling everything.
"It's the concept of causal entanglement; the particles that interact with you inside a freeze state will resume entropy in a localised paracausal loop. In this the genesis state is important, since it acts as a sort of "big bang" for all timelike paths to casually relate to. Because you stopped time right as this Viagra kicked in, the timelike geodesic where it interacts with my brain loops infinitely based on that input of initial conditions."
"Soooo..." I stupidly bray.
"_So come on man_, I'm the God who granted you these powers, help a boner-brother out when he is stuck in one of these meat gundams!"
And you know, I was so surprised, time restarted just like that.
----
(Quick error filled mobile post from an old crusty lurker, please be gentle ;_;)
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Jack rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't allucinating. He even pinched himself to see if he was dreaming, which ironically was the same thing he did when he first discovered his power. But the person in front of him was undoubtedly real.
"Come on Jack, *a whole year!?*" The teenager in front of him says with exasperation.
"Wait a minute, how do you know my power o-or my name! I've never met you in my life!" Jack said, still surprised. The fact that someone moved in stopped time, *his* stopped time was mind-blowing for him. The teenager just rolled his eyes.
"Really man? That is what you are worried about? How do I know you? Today marks the 365th day you have been *continuously* living in your stopped time, and this is the first time you wonder if someone else then you can move in your "own time", as you ridiculously call it?"
Jack was not going to let a 14-year-old kid berate him, but he had a good point. The last time he searched if someone else could move when he stopped time was a very long time ago.
It all started when he was 12 and taking a math test, a particularly difficult test. Time was ticking down and he still had only completed half of it, the tension of only having 20 minutes to finish the test adding up to the shouts of her mother when he inevitably presented another terrible result in his tests made it even harder for him to concentrate. He only wished for time to stop so he could finish it with time... and it happened. His mother was proud of him for the first time in a very long time after he showed her his exceptional result, one he got by using the stopped time to take a calculator.
The second time was accidental and a year later. He was walking back to his apartment, overwhelmed by the terrible thoughts that originated after he overheard his mother talking on the phone, where she said something about not being able to pay the rent due to her losing her job when suddenly everyone stopped moving. He checked very carefully no one was able to move before he stole an old lady's purse and ran to his home. His mother did not even question where the extra 100 dollars in her wallet came from.
He became more used to his power, being able to somewhat control it, and with its help, he was able to study for more time and get a high-paying job at an office, and a somewhat stable relationship with his girlfriend, Lucy. She broke up with him the day before Jack started his "vacation". It never crossed his mind that someone else would be able to move in his time, but that kid was there.
"W-what even do you want? For me to resume time?" After Jack said that, the kid laughed.
"I want to *help you*. But I need you to remember everything you have done with this power, and maybe you will realize why you have stopped time for so long."
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real-life sucks, but Jack. It is
"Really? An *entire year* just to get over a breakup? You are lying to yourself, Jack. This has nothing to do with your mother dying. Matter of fact, you were happy when she died."
Jack tried to deny the accusation, but he knew that was true. Since his father died, she drowned her sorrows and dumped all her hate into him. When he moved out and started living alone, he felt finally free. But Jack wasn't the smartest kid, and never made much friends at college, instead preferring to study in his normal time and party alone in his stopped time. He had a lot of fun imagining the context behind the wierdest situations he could find when time was frozen.
"So then what!? Why do you think I did this, you *all-knowing* piece of shit!?" Jack said, the kid's attitude finally having pushed him past his breaking point.
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real life sucks, but Jack. It is *your* life. You have done so much escapism that you can't distinguish your fantasy where you can do what you want with no consequences. Lucy still misses you, but you are never really for her when you need her! You are always stopping time to get things the way you want, but that has led you to never care about persons, and you need to stop now! Trust me, you don't want to live your life like this, always taking shelter on your stopped time when anything remotely problematic gets to you."
"H-how would you know?"
"Because," The kid says, slowly changing his appearance. Jack looks in disbelief as the teenager's hair changes from black to white and his skin gets wrinkles until the teenager is an old man. "I'm you, Jack. I have lived my entire life lonely, with no one that cares for me, and me caring for no one. My life is full of regrets, of loneliness. You don't talk to your co-workers, do it more, get friendships. Talk to Lucy, you really love her, but you need to give her part of your attention and time, *real-time.* I spent more of my life alone in my stopped time than actually living it, don't make the same mistake!"
"Y-you are right," Jack says with tears in his eyes, his voice now practically a whisper.
"Get back there, and live your life"
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[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?”
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"Dude, why have you stopped for this long?"
The voice startles me. It's been a year since my last freeze, and not a single squawk from any of the seagulls suspended mid-air above me. At least that was one year of not worrying about them stealing my chips - not that I could really enjoy them now anyway. One of the downsides of frozen time.
The stranger makes his way towards me, sitting himself down beside me on the smooth sand.
"I mean, this beach is beautiful, so I almost get it, I really do... but you're kind of disrupting the flow of other timestoppers with this."
I chuckled. "Timestoppers? Is that what we're called? Sounds like a low budget kids' show from the 90s."
The man shrugged. "Well, someone decided it made sense, and I mean, it does get right to the point. But you're not surprised to learn there are others? I usually have to do a whole speech - you are not alone, great power and great responsibility, yadda yadda yadda..."
Surprised? No. When I first discovered my power I did what anyone would do - an extensive online search. There were surprisingly quite a few stories out there similar to mine. Feeling like the world stopped around them, a sort of out-of-time experience... most stories were written off as disassociative disorders by the armchair psychiatrists of the internet, but I knew better.
"Nah. I sort of figured I couldn't be special enough to be the only one with this..." Not a gift, I reminded myself. "...ability."
"Well, I'm glad. The big speech would've taken a lot out of me, and *somebody* has made sure I haven't had a glass of water in 12 months."
I flash him a guilty smile. "Sorry."
He shrugs, leaning back on his palms, looking at the frozen waves. "Not like I haven't gotten used to it. But tell me. What's made you go for the gold record in timestopping?"
My fists clench, my mouth suddenly even drier.
"Because she got her diagnosis yesterday," I said as plainly as I could manage, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, "On day one of our honeymoon. And I'm not sure how to process that."
He says nothing, and we continue to keep our eyes on the ocean in front of us. A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up again.
"I was losing someone too. That's how I discovered just how strong this power was. Kept him frozen for 2 weeks before I realised."
"Realised what?"
"That I wasn't fixing things. Staring at him in that hospital bed wasn't going to bring my husband back to life. This power-- I thought it was about giving us more time to think, think more clearly, but it just locks us inside our own heads." He let out a long sigh. "I'd kept him perfectly preserved... but it wasn't a real life. I realised that the best thing I could do was accept it and just make sure his last moments were as beautiful as I could possibly make them."
I turn to look at him and beg my voice not to quiver. "Didn't it hurt?"
He lets out a wry smile. "Like hell, but it was worth it. Now I don't remember just one painful stretched-out moment. I remember all the short beautiful ones."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then he gets up without a word, saying goodbye with a pat on my shoulder.
My eyes glued to the waves in front of me, I consider his words.
High above me, a seagull flaps its wings.
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Jack rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't allucinating. He even pinched himself to see if he was dreaming, which ironically was the same thing he did when he first discovered his power. But the person in front of him was undoubtedly real.
"Come on Jack, *a whole year!?*" The teenager in front of him says with exasperation.
"Wait a minute, how do you know my power o-or my name! I've never met you in my life!" Jack said, still surprised. The fact that someone moved in stopped time, *his* stopped time was mind-blowing for him. The teenager just rolled his eyes.
"Really man? That is what you are worried about? How do I know you? Today marks the 365th day you have been *continuously* living in your stopped time, and this is the first time you wonder if someone else then you can move in your "own time", as you ridiculously call it?"
Jack was not going to let a 14-year-old kid berate him, but he had a good point. The last time he searched if someone else could move when he stopped time was a very long time ago.
It all started when he was 12 and taking a math test, a particularly difficult test. Time was ticking down and he still had only completed half of it, the tension of only having 20 minutes to finish the test adding up to the shouts of her mother when he inevitably presented another terrible result in his tests made it even harder for him to concentrate. He only wished for time to stop so he could finish it with time... and it happened. His mother was proud of him for the first time in a very long time after he showed her his exceptional result, one he got by using the stopped time to take a calculator.
The second time was accidental and a year later. He was walking back to his apartment, overwhelmed by the terrible thoughts that originated after he overheard his mother talking on the phone, where she said something about not being able to pay the rent due to her losing her job when suddenly everyone stopped moving. He checked very carefully no one was able to move before he stole an old lady's purse and ran to his home. His mother did not even question where the extra 100 dollars in her wallet came from.
He became more used to his power, being able to somewhat control it, and with its help, he was able to study for more time and get a high-paying job at an office, and a somewhat stable relationship with his girlfriend, Lucy. She broke up with him the day before Jack started his "vacation". It never crossed his mind that someone else would be able to move in his time, but that kid was there.
"W-what even do you want? For me to resume time?" After Jack said that, the kid laughed.
"I want to *help you*. But I need you to remember everything you have done with this power, and maybe you will realize why you have stopped time for so long."
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real-life sucks, but Jack. It is
"Really? An *entire year* just to get over a breakup? You are lying to yourself, Jack. This has nothing to do with your mother dying. Matter of fact, you were happy when she died."
Jack tried to deny the accusation, but he knew that was true. Since his father died, she drowned her sorrows and dumped all her hate into him. When he moved out and started living alone, he felt finally free. But Jack wasn't the smartest kid, and never made much friends at college, instead preferring to study in his normal time and party alone in his stopped time. He had a lot of fun imagining the context behind the wierdest situations he could find when time was frozen.
"So then what!? Why do you think I did this, you *all-knowing* piece of shit!?" Jack said, the kid's attitude finally having pushed him past his breaking point.
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real life sucks, but Jack. It is *your* life. You have done so much escapism that you can't distinguish your fantasy where you can do what you want with no consequences. Lucy still misses you, but you are never really for her when you need her! You are always stopping time to get things the way you want, but that has led you to never care about persons, and you need to stop now! Trust me, you don't want to live your life like this, always taking shelter on your stopped time when anything remotely problematic gets to you."
"H-how would you know?"
"Because," The kid says, slowly changing his appearance. Jack looks in disbelief as the teenager's hair changes from black to white and his skin gets wrinkles until the teenager is an old man. "I'm you, Jack. I have lived my entire life lonely, with no one that cares for me, and me caring for no one. My life is full of regrets, of loneliness. You don't talk to your co-workers, do it more, get friendships. Talk to Lucy, you really love her, but you need to give her part of your attention and time, *real-time.* I spent more of my life alone in my stopped time than actually living it, don't make the same mistake!"
"Y-you are right," Jack says with tears in his eyes, his voice now practically a whisper.
"Get back there, and live your life"
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[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?”
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"Dude, why have you stopped for this long?"
The voice startles me. It's been a year since my last freeze, and not a single squawk from any of the seagulls suspended mid-air above me. At least that was one year of not worrying about them stealing my chips - not that I could really enjoy them now anyway. One of the downsides of frozen time.
The stranger makes his way towards me, sitting himself down beside me on the smooth sand.
"I mean, this beach is beautiful, so I almost get it, I really do... but you're kind of disrupting the flow of other timestoppers with this."
I chuckled. "Timestoppers? Is that what we're called? Sounds like a low budget kids' show from the 90s."
The man shrugged. "Well, someone decided it made sense, and I mean, it does get right to the point. But you're not surprised to learn there are others? I usually have to do a whole speech - you are not alone, great power and great responsibility, yadda yadda yadda..."
Surprised? No. When I first discovered my power I did what anyone would do - an extensive online search. There were surprisingly quite a few stories out there similar to mine. Feeling like the world stopped around them, a sort of out-of-time experience... most stories were written off as disassociative disorders by the armchair psychiatrists of the internet, but I knew better.
"Nah. I sort of figured I couldn't be special enough to be the only one with this..." Not a gift, I reminded myself. "...ability."
"Well, I'm glad. The big speech would've taken a lot out of me, and *somebody* has made sure I haven't had a glass of water in 12 months."
I flash him a guilty smile. "Sorry."
He shrugs, leaning back on his palms, looking at the frozen waves. "Not like I haven't gotten used to it. But tell me. What's made you go for the gold record in timestopping?"
My fists clench, my mouth suddenly even drier.
"Because she got her diagnosis yesterday," I said as plainly as I could manage, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, "On day one of our honeymoon. And I'm not sure how to process that."
He says nothing, and we continue to keep our eyes on the ocean in front of us. A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up again.
"I was losing someone too. That's how I discovered just how strong this power was. Kept him frozen for 2 weeks before I realised."
"Realised what?"
"That I wasn't fixing things. Staring at him in that hospital bed wasn't going to bring my husband back to life. This power-- I thought it was about giving us more time to think, think more clearly, but it just locks us inside our own heads." He let out a long sigh. "I'd kept him perfectly preserved... but it wasn't a real life. I realised that the best thing I could do was accept it and just make sure his last moments were as beautiful as I could possibly make them."
I turn to look at him and beg my voice not to quiver. "Didn't it hurt?"
He lets out a wry smile. "Like hell, but it was worth it. Now I don't remember just one painful stretched-out moment. I remember all the short beautiful ones."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then he gets up without a word, saying goodbye with a pat on my shoulder.
My eyes glued to the waves in front of me, I consider his words.
High above me, a seagull flaps its wings.
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He didn't look like the sort of guy to be able to stop time. None of the telling features, like a third eye or that light-bending aura the Others dragged behind them. In fact, he was only wearing board shorts.
"It's been a whole year dude!" He pleaded.
I blinked, at first digesting that I was talking to another human. Then I shrugged and returned to sipping one of the last free cocktails I could track down.
"It's my GAP year," I eventually said. The guy kept hopping from foot to foot.
"Yeah, look, I get you're probably having a ripper time-"
"I am," I chuckled smugly.
"Cool, but see I was just about to score with this tennoutaten. I mean a real banger lass."
"Go on," I find my interest piquing, not because of his banal situation, but because he seemed to feel it important next to the fact entropy had tipped on it's side around him.
"Yeah, right? And so I popped one of those Viagra pills for a little extra oomph. Right as it kicked in you stopped everything. Been trying to find you since."
"Why?" I blurt out, genuinely at a lack of eloquence. I'd seen proton decay first hand, galaxies fading beyond their visible horizons, and the fireworks of every black hole's final moments. I had mastered time to taken one short break and...
"Cause uh..." he danced a little, and I noticed he'd clearly been shuffling around with his crotch redacted from the world this whole time.
"Cause it ain't wearing off."
"For a whole _year_?"
I stop myself from letting my voice break in a whine; that was a referred pain I hadn't felt in a while. He hopped around some more while I fell into some thought.
"I've been drinking this whole time, how come I'm recovering from that?" I eventually blurt, and he startles allowing me to spot his blight. He blushes, and I realise how far my face had sympathetically contorted to match the layout of his pants.
"Come on dude, just start it back up for an hour or so."
"No," the tone is a bit harsh, I really did feel for the fella, but something about him bothered me. He sighs and begins awkwardly gesturing with his hands, maintaining the same uncomfortable looking pose.
"Same reason you don't knock out an entire city the first step you take frozen by fusing your molecules with other air molecules."
His tone had entirely changed, scholarly, almost business like. I blink (all three eyes) and stare at the man as he begins unravelling everything.
"It's the concept of causal entanglement; the particles that interact with you inside a freeze state will resume entropy in a localised paracausal loop. In this the genesis state is important, since it acts as a sort of "big bang" for all timelike paths to casually relate to. Because you stopped time right as this Viagra kicked in, the timelike geodesic where it interacts with my brain loops infinitely based on that input of initial conditions."
"Soooo..." I stupidly bray.
"_So come on man_, I'm the God who granted you these powers, help a boner-brother out when he is stuck in one of these meat gundams!"
And you know, I was so surprised, time restarted just like that.
----
(Quick error filled mobile post from an old crusty lurker, please be gentle ;_;)
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[WP] You have lived an insignificant life. After you die, your ghost sticks around for your funeral. Only one person shows up, but you can't remember having met them before. As they cry in front of your grave, they call you a liar.
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They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
Maybe to remind you that you’ve lived, or maybe to give you some light in all the darkness. But nobody ever thinks about the lone man on his bed thousands of miles away. That when he dies, the only thing memory taught him was that he was dying to live.
Perhaps life is like that for the sad; so meaningless that not even life can make death seem meaningful.
The lone man a thousand miles away had no happy memories, no family, no friends. No one but himself.
And maybe that’s why he lives on, why his ghost attaches itself to his grave, because even in death, there’s still a small part of himself that wants to live.
—
The funeral is small, almost nonexistent. No one shows up except for one woman.
One woman, that for the life of him, he can’t remember ever knowing. She’s staring straight ahead, her expression stoic, but her eyes solemn. Her hair falls down her face, almost as if to conceal herself, and her hands are balled into fists, tense and angry, and if he looks a little closely, calloused and tired. Rough and raw. Probably used again and again, probably a hard worker. There’s nothing kind about her hands.
It’s only when the priest leaves and she’s alone in the graveyard that she finally makes her way to the grave.
She stands there, her head slightly bowed, her eyes suddenly focused, and he realizes that she’s reading the epitaph. *His* epitaph. No one was going to be there to write one for him, so he wrote one himself:
*Wherever I am, I hope it’s somewhere where the sky is blue. And wherever you are, I hope it’s not here.*
“Liar,” she hisses. “You’re such a liar.” There are tears in her eyes now, and he watches as she places her hands atop his gravestone, weeping silently. “How can I be anywhere but here?”
Slowly, almost as if the action were painful, she traces his words with her fingertips. “This is all I have left of you,” she whispers. “All I’ll ever know of you.”
The woman looks up then, and he looks up too. Silently, he wonders what she’s seeing, who she is, what he means to her. What she could have meant to him.
“Well,” she says, a quiet laugh breaking through the silence. “The sky’s blue over here. I hope it’s blue for you, too.”
*It is,* he wants to tell her. *It’s never felt more blue in his life.*
When she finally removes her hands from his grave, she does so slowly, like she wants to hold on a little longer. Her hands may not be smooth or soft or even gentle, but he thinks that maybe they *are* kind. That maybe just because something looks homely, doesn’t mean it actually is.
And when she speaks for the final time, he can hear the longing in her voice, can feel the pain in her chest. “Bye, Dad.”
And then she’s walking away, and everything becomes fuzzy and there’s a pain in his chest and he’s trying to remember, he’s trying so hard, but he can’t, and he’s chasing after her, looking into her face and —
And then he sees it. Her mother. Those green eyes so like the ones he can still remember. He only had them for one night, but one night was enough.
One night led to *this*. To *her.* To his daughter. The daughter he never even knew he had. The daughter who had supposedly come looking for him only to find out that he was buried six feet underground.
If only she had come earlier, if only he had more time, if only he had *known.*
But he hadn’t, and his chance of knowing her had gone — ripped away from him like the happiness he never had and like the life he never got to live.
Ghosts may not be able to cry, but he’s weeping. Silently, agonizingly, longingly.
Happily.
He has a daughter. And even if no one else showed up to his funeral, she did. She shed tears for him, grieved for him even though she never got to know him, loved him in her own broken, fragmented way.
Because even in death, he was still important to her.
Even in death, he lives on.
—
/r/itrytowrite
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*Liar* she thought quietly to herself and "LIAR" she suddenly shouted, interrupting the priest in his disconnected musings. And suddenly she could not hold it in any longer. Like a dam overflowing, spilling out and crushing everything in its path, you can't just sit still and take it any more.
Standing up, you take in the empty pews around you. The organist who was quietly collecting his sheets of music had apparently noticed your outburst, and looks down on you. With the sunbeams colourfully filtering through the ornamental window behind him, he takes on a vagueness that gives you pause.
But nothing can stop you now, and you march up to the altar, rudely (you distantly recognize) pushing the priest aside. Directing your voice to the multitude of empty pews, you see them looking back at you - expectantly. As if wondering *who was this man resting in the wooden box in the corner.* And you could tell them... oh you could tell them so many things. So many things that had shaken your own world to the foundations, but... knowing that the world outside would smugly ignore every single earth shattering word, you take breath and close your eyes. "Liar" you say softly into the room, and the architecture carries your word back to the organist.
Now firmly placed with the sun behind him, you can only see his silhouette. A countour of pain and sorrow and a life you wished you could live again. Differently. But as a cloud obscures the sun, you see the Organist clearly. His face and his eyes, looking directly at you and smiling.
And you feel. If not understanding, at least a form of closure. And as you smile back, the Organist has disappeared. And where he stood is a glimmer of sunlight and shadow, drifting away through the empty church. Like a ghost.
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[WP] You are stunned to learn that you were adopted. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" you cried. "Frankly, honey, we thought it was obvious. You don't hunger for blood, you can't turn into a bat, and you don't need sunblock to go outside during the day."
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"I'm not like you. I'm old enough to recognize this. You knew eventually we would be having this conversation." I paused, to let the words sink in.
"I've known for most of my life you were vampires. I only recently realized that... I'm not. But you knew from day one. You HAD to know. I love you and am not judging you. But I have to know... Why?"
Her parents looked at each other, and then nodded. "Hon, that's all true. You are old enough to know now," her father said.
My mother chimed in. "Please understand that your father and I are prouder of you than anyone could possibly appreciate, except maybe yourself. And that not everyone will understand. Not that it's any of their business", she added, darkly. "We are not planning on letting anyone take advantage of the gift we have given you. No matter what!", she finished, fiercely.
"What your mother is trying to say it's that before she and I... became... We had already decided it would be only to protect and care for you, provide for you every advantage we could, in a world that only respects power and resources. We were not wealthy. We were nobodies before the gift. But we were determined to leave the world a better place with our actions, and that included you, our legacy."
I swallowed, uncomfortable. "But you kill people. Like, weekly, maybe even daily. I want to believe you love me. You've definitely given me no personal reason to doubt that. Yet... You are both murderers, serial killers, even. How do you reconcile that? What am I to take away from that legacy, of mass and ongoing murder, that makes up for it? How do you think I feel, knowing my every advantage came as a direct or indirect result of somebody - probably innocent - being murdered?"
I crossed my arms, and leaned back.
To their credit, they did not immediately offer me platitudes or half truths. Instead, they both again looked at each other, and sighed together as if sharing a single heart, a single pair of lungs, and a singular shared regret.
My father broke the silence first.
"We are bad people, your mother and I. We don't deny it. In a world full of bad people, though, we are barely footnotes. The good, wholesome, great humans that change the world for the better, never rise to success, when they have sunk to our level."
He paused, waiting for my acknowledgment. I nodded, and motioned for him to continue.
"You may recall the saying, two wrongs don't make a right. And that's true, never doubt it. But right and wrong are not comparable. They don't exist on the same continuum. They are orthogonal to each other. It's possible for two or more wrongs to clear a space in which right actions can exist. It's not a guarantee, just a possibility. But your mother and I, we realized it was something we could exploit, working together, to make a place for something wholly good and just to thrive, even while condemning ourselves to the long eventual arm of justice." My father licked his lips, considering. It was obvious he was in a lot of pain.
My mother chimed in, "You should know we choose our victims very carefully. Nobody we killed was in any way innocent of murder themselves. We selected only the most vile, most predatory humans - and monsters like us - to eliminate. We were clearing the way for you, making a safe place for you."
My father nodded his agreement. He smiled sadly at my mother, and remarked, "We never expected to survive our work. Success itself was open to question, at times. But look at you now! We think it was worth it. If you do what we expect, next, then we were right."
My mother nodded vigorously, against the silvered restraints constraining them both. A potent metabolic and mystical toxin, the silver must be agonizing as well as obviously debilitating. As conflicted as I'd been, I still had plotted this confrontation meticulously, in order to learn the full truth, and nothing but the truth. In this, I realized I had succeeded beyond my wildest imagining.
"You know what I must do, now. You have to know. You're ok with this?" I demanded, holding aloft the wooden mallet and handful of oaken staves.
"Honey, everything we've done for you was in anticipation of this day. Make us proud," my father implored. My mother nodded. "We will always love you, and be proud of you," she added.
After it was over, I scattered their ashes along the banks of a swift-flowing mountain stream, cool and clean, which would eventually carry their dust out to sea, merging what remained of their essence with the lifeblood of the planet, in all of it's ebbs and flows.
Then I drew up a plan: short, middle, and long term. I would honor their sacrifice by becoming their legacy. It would have to be enough. It was everything the three of us had to offer, after all. I'd find a way to make it work, or die trying, just as they had.
So emboldened, I set out to redeem the family and fulfill my destiny. And God had mercy on our souls, Amen.
|
It was my 16th birthday. I woke up that morning feeling like I did every other day, different. I had been excited for this day all my life. It was the day I would finally stop aging. At 16 vampires start craving blood, stop aging, and are finally allowed into the families satanic rituals. This birthday my parents didn’t wake me up like they usually did. I always was brought breakfast in bed and treated like the queen I would become. They were no where to be found in the house. It’s almost like they forgot my birthday.
8 hours later.
The day was almost over. I could tell something was off. I didn’t start craving blood like the coven told me I would. Honestly all I felt was sadness because my family wasn’t there to help me. I decided maybe I should get some blood out of the fridge. Maybe if I smelt it I would become hungry. When I walked up to the fridge I saw a note. It said, “Loren pack your bags. If you haven’t noticed you aren’t craving blood yet. You haven’t had to wear sunblock to go outside and if you try to turn into a bat you will fail. We only took you in because your mother asked us too. Leave before we get back at 11.” I froze. I couldn’t move at all I was so stunned by how they told me this. I was stunned on why they would kick me out after raising me with love and care. In that moment it felt like my life was over. I went upstairs to pack my bags, but I wasn’t leaving until they gave me some answers.
2 hours later.
It was finally 11. My “parents” walked through the door laughing and smiling. They said they were hungry and I should have left while I could. I screamed at them to wait and give me answers. They told me to hurry up and leave before they sucked me dry. I yelled no. That night was horrific. My blood was everywhere. I only got away because the phone started ringing. I am telling this story to help anyone in a coven feeling different. If you get a note from your parents on your 16th birthday telling you to leave, leave.
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[WP] You're the chosen one who defeated the dark lord. Now years later, you're a ptsd ridden adult. Dealing with your nightmarish past.
|
Echoes of A Hero
The young adventurer strode confidently to tavern counter to ask the barkeep if there was any questing to be had around the town. His glimmering sword clattered noisily against his armor with every step and his pack looked heavy with supplies. Before he could reach the front, a cloaked figure raised one gnarled hand and beckoned him to the dark corner where they sat alone.
Eager to learn anything he could about this place, the adventurer hastily made his way to the table and sat down across from the figure. The wizened face of an old man stared back at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, save for a great sorrow that could be seen in his eyes. He spoke with a voice as thin as spider’s silk.
“What is your name, young man?” Tye old man leaned forward, as if to get a better look at the adventurer.
“Arthos, wise sir. I am looking for opportunities for a grand quest and was hoping this tavern would bear fruit.” The words spilled from Arthos’ mouth, betraying his serious tone with their bubbling excitement.
“Arthos” said the old man, pausing as though he had to examine the name “Very well. You may call me Dalthanius”.
At the mention of the old man’s name, Arthos sat bolt upright. What was barely contained excitement before burst forth in a wave of admiration and disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean Dalthanius, Savior of Men? You are my greatest inspiration! I had always hoped since I was a child that I could be half the hero you were!”
The sadness in Dalthanius’ eyes grew more apparent and the air around him seemed to still. His whisper thin voice still carried a great deal of power. “I had feared that was the case. Go home child, there is no glory in what you seek”.
All at once the smile came crashing down from Arthos’ face. He opened his mouth to protest, but the old hero cut him off.
“I have heard every argument there is. All the reasons I should be proud of my work and how grand it must have felt to save the realm. But nobody who’s told me all these things knows what it was really like. Do you know what it was like, Arthos”?
Again, Arthos tried to reply, stammering out an “I-I” before going quiet again. Dalthanius resumed
“You don’t know the half of it. I killed countless people, child. Dozens and dozens, maybe even hundreds of men, broken by years of poisonous ideology, but no other crime than that. They didn’t think they were evil, in their eyes they weren’t.” The great sadness that could be felt in the presence of the hero flashed into red hot anger “and what good has truly come from my work? Our kingdom is safe, but the land to the east is left as a barren wasteland, ravaged by war. It’s few citizens who remain are living in abject poverty or rotting in our prisons. I cannot in good conscience allow others to follow in my footsteps “.
Arthos seemed to have been stunned by the words of the man across the table. He stood silently and looked down at the Savior of Men for a long moment before undoing the fasteners that held his sword to his armor. Wordlessly he placed the sword on the table between them and left the tavern.
Dalthanius sighed and picked up the sword, balancing its heavy steel between his frail hands. He unsheathed it for a moment, allowing his eyes to meet his reflection in the polished blade for a moment before putting the blade away once again. With a shake of his head, he propped the sword up in the corner behind his table where a dozen or more other swords sat gathering dust.
Never again.
|
"Selena! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
He screams as he thrust out his open hand as he watched his wife being eviscerated by the demon lord. This causes a trigger in the hero as he mentally breaks releasing his untapped power!
"You bastard! I will fucking kill you!!!"
The hero speeds forward at super sonic speed, power and lights all emanating off of him causing random lightning strikes taking down the Dark Lord's minions.
"CRASHING TSUNAMI!!!"
Cries the hero in tears as the power courses through his veins into his sword. The Dark lord tries to parry but the hero's swing crashes through the sword and delivers a fatal blow. Power lights and lightning flow through the open wound on the Dark lord completely destroying his internal organs and expelling them from his body. As he finally lay broken and battered on the floor with his guts hanging out he smiles his last and fades to black. The hero stands victorious. He finally takes a breath. He does not celebrate for around him bodies of the fallen. His party, all slain in this final battle. He walks over to his fallen wife and holds her head to his chest and cries sad tears.
YEARS LATER
Empty bottles lay around the man. He is unkept and smelly. Unshaven beard with tattered clothing. He is sitting in an alleyway with his last bottle of rum. The man hurls the bottle at the wall smashing it into a million pieces. The glass shattering causes an automatic response increasing his reaction time as he sees broken glass falling in slow motion. A large piece catches his eye while falling and it shows a reflection of him and with a trick of a light he could swear he saw his fallen wife too. Finally all the pieces come to rest and time seems to return to normal. The man slumps down to the ground crying and broken inside. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He never smiles. His purpose now is to drink and to forget and hopefully pass out and not sleep. He blames himself for being too cowardly to end it all and he blames himself for the death of his wife and team.
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[WP] You're the chosen one who defeated the dark lord. Now years later, you're a ptsd ridden adult. Dealing with your nightmarish past.
|
"A toast! On this anniversary we raise our glasses to the Knight of the Evening Star, The Gods' chosen hero, who on this day saved the world as we know it. You are a beacon of hope to us all"
Andrew raised his glass, and the many guests of the ball followed their King in suit. A mighty clamor of "here here!" Rose from the crowd.
I gave a humble smile and nod. "It is an honor to serve my people and my king."
Another cheer came from the crowd, and with their glasses drained the party began in earnest. All the nobles and ministers began to eat and dance, finding what to complain about and putting on their practiced smiles. The slow and steady political dance never ended, even in times of revelry. Especially in times of revelry.
After the toast me and Andrew moved to the side in an attempt to postpone the inevitable influx of people. Though his eyes never lost the mischievous glint of his youth, he had grown from the trouble-making prince into a wise and kind king. His beard covered the long white scar on his cheek. For a moment, I could see the blood again. Running fresh and crimson down his face. I blinked, and the memory vanished.
"I think we can definitely file tonight as a success."
I managed a small laugh. "No one has started drinking yet, it could all go down hill."
His hand clasped my shoulder. "Ah but my old friend that's just it. It's only the first part of a ball that matters. No one remembers the rest."
"Good, seems my work here is done. I'll excuse myself."
A look of concern flashed over his face. "I know you're not one for parties but these people have all come to celebrate you. Your triumph. Have a drink, talk to people, flirt a bit even. Enjoy yourself."
I prepared a rebuttal but the look in his eye told me it was hopeless. I gave a sigh, and nodded. "Ok" With that, we steeled ourselves and entered the fray.
We began to make our way to one of the many tables heavily ladder with food. Of course on our way we had to stop and greet the many guests. I shook hands with merchants and nobles and ministers and couriers and long lost cousins and old friends. All with the same saccharine smile and offers of gratitude that disguised selfish motives. The dance continued as complaints were made all around us. The curtains, the food, the flowers, the staff, the guest list. None were satisfactory. And it was simply the end of the world that the table clothes were violet instead of the proper regal purple.
Life in the palace was hard to adjust to. After I had stared oblivion in the eye, it was hard to understand the pettiness. When you've had to make life or death decisions for nearly a year straight, who gets to sit where at dinner feels entirely unimportant.
I tried my best to smile through it. Letting Andrew's kingly charm and silver tongue do the heavy lifting. But the chatter all around me. The endless noise. The people crowding around. I began to feel the air leave my lungs. My eyes began to naturally dart around all the faces, and out of the corner of my eye I could see someone... something... familiar...
I looked at the floor. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It. Wasn't. Real. I forced deep breaths. I clenched my fingers. I smiled. The fight was over. All that was in the past.
Eventually we made it to the sanctuary of the food table, piled high with pastries and other treats. Food was good. It took some of the nuasea away. I laughed at one of Andrew's jokes.
Then there was a loud noise. A glass shattered, or someone dropped something. And suddenly I was in hell.
That dark hall. It was so cold. I looked over at Andrew. His beard was gone, his face unnaturally pale, blood streaming down the cut on his cheek and from his shirt. That glassy look in his eye. I jumped back. I felt something crunch under my feet. There was a sinking feeling inside my stomach, and I looked down to see the broken body of a soldier. My soldier. Strewn all around us over a hundred men lay dead. Their bodies twisted at I'd angled. The floor was slippery with their blood.
And then I saw *them*. All around me. The twisted forms made if pure shadow. They grabbed at me, trying to pull me deeper. I grabbed for my sword and swung the blade to keep them at bay. Then the laughter came. Sweet, childlike laughter. It enveloped me, and it almost felt like it was coming from inside my chest.
But it wasn't. No I knew where it was coming from. It came from the body if a child. A little girl. She had wandered too far from home and it found her. I could see it, puppeting her body. Pulling it this way and that. From her eyes and mouth poured pure darkness. It could twist her face into am evil smile. It could even sound like her.
The laugher only got louder, and louder, and louder. I ran, trying to escape the sound. If I could only escape the sound. But there was no escape. All I could do was lay on the ground and weep.
And then it stopped. I opened my eyes, and I was once again at the ball. On the floor, weeping. In my hand was a shattered liquor bottle I had been brandishing as a weapon.
I spent the next few days alone in my chamber, watching the busy courtyard below. I watched the way of life so many people had layed down their lives for. A way of life I could never fully be a part of.
In the end Andrew was right. No one remembered most of that night. Not even when the kingdom's greatest hero had gone mad and threatened the guests. And eventually, they all began to forget how the world had almost ended. It all began to fade into legend. The only one who remembered what it was like to face oblivion was an old forgotten knight that was plauged by an imaginary war that had never ended.
|
"Selena! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
He screams as he thrust out his open hand as he watched his wife being eviscerated by the demon lord. This causes a trigger in the hero as he mentally breaks releasing his untapped power!
"You bastard! I will fucking kill you!!!"
The hero speeds forward at super sonic speed, power and lights all emanating off of him causing random lightning strikes taking down the Dark Lord's minions.
"CRASHING TSUNAMI!!!"
Cries the hero in tears as the power courses through his veins into his sword. The Dark lord tries to parry but the hero's swing crashes through the sword and delivers a fatal blow. Power lights and lightning flow through the open wound on the Dark lord completely destroying his internal organs and expelling them from his body. As he finally lay broken and battered on the floor with his guts hanging out he smiles his last and fades to black. The hero stands victorious. He finally takes a breath. He does not celebrate for around him bodies of the fallen. His party, all slain in this final battle. He walks over to his fallen wife and holds her head to his chest and cries sad tears.
YEARS LATER
Empty bottles lay around the man. He is unkept and smelly. Unshaven beard with tattered clothing. He is sitting in an alleyway with his last bottle of rum. The man hurls the bottle at the wall smashing it into a million pieces. The glass shattering causes an automatic response increasing his reaction time as he sees broken glass falling in slow motion. A large piece catches his eye while falling and it shows a reflection of him and with a trick of a light he could swear he saw his fallen wife too. Finally all the pieces come to rest and time seems to return to normal. The man slumps down to the ground crying and broken inside. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He never smiles. His purpose now is to drink and to forget and hopefully pass out and not sleep. He blames himself for being too cowardly to end it all and he blames himself for the death of his wife and team.
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[WP] You're the chosen one who defeated the dark lord. Now years later, you're a ptsd ridden adult. Dealing with your nightmarish past.
|
They called me a hero when I killed him. But I don’t feel that way. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any sense of misplaced guilt for slaying the Dark Lord. But there’s no pride to be had in it either.
He’s coughing up blood. Without his disguise he looks, well, normal. He looks like one of your parents’ friends. Like your high school calculus teacher. Like your dentist.
Before he dies, he points at me. He grins.
“Your battle with me will never truly be over.”
I plunge the karambit into his heart and he’s still. I don’t give what he said to me anymore thought for years. It’s like something out of those Japanese role-playing games I loved as a kid.
Now I’m lying in bed. My Jack Russell terrier, Dozer, is snuggled against my head. It’s a cold, rainy night. The kind of night that makes you want to crawl underneath your covers and sleep for twelve hours straight.
I’m otherwise alone in my modest townhome. No one has been here in—I don’t know—six months, a year. Not since Carlie left anyway. And I don’t even blame her for that. I wouldn’t want to be with me either.
The house creeks. I don’t like the sound. It sounds too… alive. But it’s what to be expected in an older home and in this kind of weather. Then I hear it again. It’s the sound of feet on stairs. *Creeeeeeeek, creeeeeeeek.*
I look at Dozer. He’s still sound asleep and usually he’ll awake at the drop of a hat.
*Creeeeeeeek, creeeeeeeek.*
I consider jumping out the window. It’s about a fifteen-foot drop. That means I’ll probably break my ankle and who knows what other bones if I attempt it. I can barely move anyway. If I do, it’ll hear me.
I shut my eyes. I’m crying now. These aren’t tears of sadness. These are borne of pure helplessness. There’s nothing I can do.
Then the light in the upstairs hallway comes on. Or, someone turned it on. I grab Dozer and pull him into my chest. Like this little creature should be the one who protects me. He licks at my face, then promptly goes back to sleep.
There’s another creek. This one is different though. This is the one that the hardwood floors—not the stairs—make. One more of those will mean it’ll be within arm’s reach of my bedroom door. Then it’ll open it, and…
*Hey y’all prepare yourselves for the rubber band man…*
The Spinners’ classic plays on my phone. It’s my alarm tone. It’s 7:00 a.m. Time to get up and get ready for another day’s work. I don’t particularly like my job at Sewell and Associates, but it pays the bills. More importantly, while I’m there, I don’t have to think about it.
But when I’m alone—at home, in my car, wherever—I do. The Dark Lord has some nasty magic indeed.
“Sometimes I can’t believe that *he’s* my son.”
Or was it, “Sometimes I really worry about my son?”
I’m twelve years old. Like most twelve-year-olds I can be pretty obnoxious. But I don’t think I’m that bad.
“He doesn’t play sports, he has no friends. All he does is spend all day on that computer of his.”
Or was it, “He really needs to spend a little less time on the computer.”
I don’t know.
Dad is talking to one of his friends. Which one was it?
I’m supposed to be asleep. I slink back to my room. Not because I’m afraid of getting in trouble. But because of how it would make my dad feel if he knew I heard those things. If… if that’s what he actually said. I think he said them…
I walk into the office. Nicoleta sees me and smiles.
“Miles!” she cries.
She walks over to me and grabs my arm. “That ending! That ending! I was like… ‘what!?’”
Nicoleta is from Romania. She moved here with her husband a few years ago. I’m pretty sure he’s in the mob, but that’s another story. Now, Nicoleta grew up in a small, conservative, rural village back in Romania. Which meant that remained sheltered from many aspects of American culture. Since we’ve known each other, I’ve introduced her to several TV shows I’ve watched. *Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Game of Thrones* and now *The Sopranos.*
I can’t help but return the smile. Her enthusiasm is infectious. And Nicoleta is looking especially good today. She’s wearing too much perfume, but damn.
“So he got whacked, no?” she asks.
She pulls herself closer to me. Probably a little closer than is necessary. We flirt sometimes. But I’ve never attempted to take it anywhere. Partly because of how things ended with Carlie. I don’t want a repeat of what happened there. Partly because I seriously don’t want to find out if my suspicions about her husband are actually true.
“I think so. But it’s sort of up to you to decide,” I answer.
Throughout the day, Nicoleta will come into my office. Maybe more than she has to. To show me some work, only to have us end up in flirtatious conversation that will lead absolutely nowhere.
“Happy hour at Sancho’s. Want to get a drink after work?”
Man I love her accent. I could just listen to her talk.
“Well, I…” I stammer. Remember what I said about this leading nowhere and why?
“Promised my mom I’d do dinner with her tonight. Been putting it off forever.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet, Miles.” She touches my cheek, smiles, and walks out of my office.
Then it’s time to go home.
I have to pull over to the side of the road. I’m crying so hard I can barely see. Barely breathe. I remember—I think—who dad was talking to. It was granddad. The man I loved more than anyone. The best man I’ve ever known. My dad was saying these things to grandad and grandad was agreeing with him.
Was grandad mad at me for letting him die?
Wait, that makes no sense. Grandad didn’t die until… he didn’t die until a year after this. Miles can remember it plain as day. He was there. And he didn’t do anything. Granddad had one of those Jolly Ranchers in his mouth, accidentally swallowed it and…
You just sat there and you watched him die.
No wonder dad and grandad were saying those things about you.
“Your battle with me will never truly be over. And do you know why?”
He laughs as the realization dawns my face. Right up until I plunge the knife into his chest.
They called me a hero when I killed him. But I don’t feel that way. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any sense of misplaced guilt for slaying the Dark Lord. But there’s no pride to be had in it either.
Now I’m lying in bed. My Jack Russell terrier, Dozer, is snuggled against my head. It’s a cold, rainy night. The kind of night that makes you want to crawl underneath your covers and sleep for twelve hours straight.
|
"Selena! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
He screams as he thrust out his open hand as he watched his wife being eviscerated by the demon lord. This causes a trigger in the hero as he mentally breaks releasing his untapped power!
"You bastard! I will fucking kill you!!!"
The hero speeds forward at super sonic speed, power and lights all emanating off of him causing random lightning strikes taking down the Dark Lord's minions.
"CRASHING TSUNAMI!!!"
Cries the hero in tears as the power courses through his veins into his sword. The Dark lord tries to parry but the hero's swing crashes through the sword and delivers a fatal blow. Power lights and lightning flow through the open wound on the Dark lord completely destroying his internal organs and expelling them from his body. As he finally lay broken and battered on the floor with his guts hanging out he smiles his last and fades to black. The hero stands victorious. He finally takes a breath. He does not celebrate for around him bodies of the fallen. His party, all slain in this final battle. He walks over to his fallen wife and holds her head to his chest and cries sad tears.
YEARS LATER
Empty bottles lay around the man. He is unkept and smelly. Unshaven beard with tattered clothing. He is sitting in an alleyway with his last bottle of rum. The man hurls the bottle at the wall smashing it into a million pieces. The glass shattering causes an automatic response increasing his reaction time as he sees broken glass falling in slow motion. A large piece catches his eye while falling and it shows a reflection of him and with a trick of a light he could swear he saw his fallen wife too. Finally all the pieces come to rest and time seems to return to normal. The man slumps down to the ground crying and broken inside. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He never smiles. His purpose now is to drink and to forget and hopefully pass out and not sleep. He blames himself for being too cowardly to end it all and he blames himself for the death of his wife and team.
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[WP] You're the chosen one who defeated the dark lord. Now years later, you're a ptsd ridden adult. Dealing with your nightmarish past.
|
"A toast! On this anniversary we raise our glasses to the Knight of the Evening Star, The Gods' chosen hero, who on this day saved the world as we know it. You are a beacon of hope to us all"
Andrew raised his glass, and the many guests of the ball followed their King in suit. A mighty clamor of "here here!" Rose from the crowd.
I gave a humble smile and nod. "It is an honor to serve my people and my king."
Another cheer came from the crowd, and with their glasses drained the party began in earnest. All the nobles and ministers began to eat and dance, finding what to complain about and putting on their practiced smiles. The slow and steady political dance never ended, even in times of revelry. Especially in times of revelry.
After the toast me and Andrew moved to the side in an attempt to postpone the inevitable influx of people. Though his eyes never lost the mischievous glint of his youth, he had grown from the trouble-making prince into a wise and kind king. His beard covered the long white scar on his cheek. For a moment, I could see the blood again. Running fresh and crimson down his face. I blinked, and the memory vanished.
"I think we can definitely file tonight as a success."
I managed a small laugh. "No one has started drinking yet, it could all go down hill."
His hand clasped my shoulder. "Ah but my old friend that's just it. It's only the first part of a ball that matters. No one remembers the rest."
"Good, seems my work here is done. I'll excuse myself."
A look of concern flashed over his face. "I know you're not one for parties but these people have all come to celebrate you. Your triumph. Have a drink, talk to people, flirt a bit even. Enjoy yourself."
I prepared a rebuttal but the look in his eye told me it was hopeless. I gave a sigh, and nodded. "Ok" With that, we steeled ourselves and entered the fray.
We began to make our way to one of the many tables heavily ladder with food. Of course on our way we had to stop and greet the many guests. I shook hands with merchants and nobles and ministers and couriers and long lost cousins and old friends. All with the same saccharine smile and offers of gratitude that disguised selfish motives. The dance continued as complaints were made all around us. The curtains, the food, the flowers, the staff, the guest list. None were satisfactory. And it was simply the end of the world that the table clothes were violet instead of the proper regal purple.
Life in the palace was hard to adjust to. After I had stared oblivion in the eye, it was hard to understand the pettiness. When you've had to make life or death decisions for nearly a year straight, who gets to sit where at dinner feels entirely unimportant.
I tried my best to smile through it. Letting Andrew's kingly charm and silver tongue do the heavy lifting. But the chatter all around me. The endless noise. The people crowding around. I began to feel the air leave my lungs. My eyes began to naturally dart around all the faces, and out of the corner of my eye I could see someone... something... familiar...
I looked at the floor. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It. Wasn't. Real. I forced deep breaths. I clenched my fingers. I smiled. The fight was over. All that was in the past.
Eventually we made it to the sanctuary of the food table, piled high with pastries and other treats. Food was good. It took some of the nuasea away. I laughed at one of Andrew's jokes.
Then there was a loud noise. A glass shattered, or someone dropped something. And suddenly I was in hell.
That dark hall. It was so cold. I looked over at Andrew. His beard was gone, his face unnaturally pale, blood streaming down the cut on his cheek and from his shirt. That glassy look in his eye. I jumped back. I felt something crunch under my feet. There was a sinking feeling inside my stomach, and I looked down to see the broken body of a soldier. My soldier. Strewn all around us over a hundred men lay dead. Their bodies twisted at I'd angled. The floor was slippery with their blood.
And then I saw *them*. All around me. The twisted forms made if pure shadow. They grabbed at me, trying to pull me deeper. I grabbed for my sword and swung the blade to keep them at bay. Then the laughter came. Sweet, childlike laughter. It enveloped me, and it almost felt like it was coming from inside my chest.
But it wasn't. No I knew where it was coming from. It came from the body if a child. A little girl. She had wandered too far from home and it found her. I could see it, puppeting her body. Pulling it this way and that. From her eyes and mouth poured pure darkness. It could twist her face into am evil smile. It could even sound like her.
The laugher only got louder, and louder, and louder. I ran, trying to escape the sound. If I could only escape the sound. But there was no escape. All I could do was lay on the ground and weep.
And then it stopped. I opened my eyes, and I was once again at the ball. On the floor, weeping. In my hand was a shattered liquor bottle I had been brandishing as a weapon.
I spent the next few days alone in my chamber, watching the busy courtyard below. I watched the way of life so many people had layed down their lives for. A way of life I could never fully be a part of.
In the end Andrew was right. No one remembered most of that night. Not even when the kingdom's greatest hero had gone mad and threatened the guests. And eventually, they all began to forget how the world had almost ended. It all began to fade into legend. The only one who remembered what it was like to face oblivion was an old forgotten knight that was plauged by an imaginary war that had never ended.
|
Echoes of A Hero
The young adventurer strode confidently to tavern counter to ask the barkeep if there was any questing to be had around the town. His glimmering sword clattered noisily against his armor with every step and his pack looked heavy with supplies. Before he could reach the front, a cloaked figure raised one gnarled hand and beckoned him to the dark corner where they sat alone.
Eager to learn anything he could about this place, the adventurer hastily made his way to the table and sat down across from the figure. The wizened face of an old man stared back at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, save for a great sorrow that could be seen in his eyes. He spoke with a voice as thin as spider’s silk.
“What is your name, young man?” Tye old man leaned forward, as if to get a better look at the adventurer.
“Arthos, wise sir. I am looking for opportunities for a grand quest and was hoping this tavern would bear fruit.” The words spilled from Arthos’ mouth, betraying his serious tone with their bubbling excitement.
“Arthos” said the old man, pausing as though he had to examine the name “Very well. You may call me Dalthanius”.
At the mention of the old man’s name, Arthos sat bolt upright. What was barely contained excitement before burst forth in a wave of admiration and disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean Dalthanius, Savior of Men? You are my greatest inspiration! I had always hoped since I was a child that I could be half the hero you were!”
The sadness in Dalthanius’ eyes grew more apparent and the air around him seemed to still. His whisper thin voice still carried a great deal of power. “I had feared that was the case. Go home child, there is no glory in what you seek”.
All at once the smile came crashing down from Arthos’ face. He opened his mouth to protest, but the old hero cut him off.
“I have heard every argument there is. All the reasons I should be proud of my work and how grand it must have felt to save the realm. But nobody who’s told me all these things knows what it was really like. Do you know what it was like, Arthos”?
Again, Arthos tried to reply, stammering out an “I-I” before going quiet again. Dalthanius resumed
“You don’t know the half of it. I killed countless people, child. Dozens and dozens, maybe even hundreds of men, broken by years of poisonous ideology, but no other crime than that. They didn’t think they were evil, in their eyes they weren’t.” The great sadness that could be felt in the presence of the hero flashed into red hot anger “and what good has truly come from my work? Our kingdom is safe, but the land to the east is left as a barren wasteland, ravaged by war. It’s few citizens who remain are living in abject poverty or rotting in our prisons. I cannot in good conscience allow others to follow in my footsteps “.
Arthos seemed to have been stunned by the words of the man across the table. He stood silently and looked down at the Savior of Men for a long moment before undoing the fasteners that held his sword to his armor. Wordlessly he placed the sword on the table between them and left the tavern.
Dalthanius sighed and picked up the sword, balancing its heavy steel between his frail hands. He unsheathed it for a moment, allowing his eyes to meet his reflection in the polished blade for a moment before putting the blade away once again. With a shake of his head, he propped the sword up in the corner behind his table where a dozen or more other swords sat gathering dust.
Never again.
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[WP] You're the chosen one who defeated the dark lord. Now years later, you're a ptsd ridden adult. Dealing with your nightmarish past.
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They called me a hero when I killed him. But I don’t feel that way. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any sense of misplaced guilt for slaying the Dark Lord. But there’s no pride to be had in it either.
He’s coughing up blood. Without his disguise he looks, well, normal. He looks like one of your parents’ friends. Like your high school calculus teacher. Like your dentist.
Before he dies, he points at me. He grins.
“Your battle with me will never truly be over.”
I plunge the karambit into his heart and he’s still. I don’t give what he said to me anymore thought for years. It’s like something out of those Japanese role-playing games I loved as a kid.
Now I’m lying in bed. My Jack Russell terrier, Dozer, is snuggled against my head. It’s a cold, rainy night. The kind of night that makes you want to crawl underneath your covers and sleep for twelve hours straight.
I’m otherwise alone in my modest townhome. No one has been here in—I don’t know—six months, a year. Not since Carlie left anyway. And I don’t even blame her for that. I wouldn’t want to be with me either.
The house creeks. I don’t like the sound. It sounds too… alive. But it’s what to be expected in an older home and in this kind of weather. Then I hear it again. It’s the sound of feet on stairs. *Creeeeeeeek, creeeeeeeek.*
I look at Dozer. He’s still sound asleep and usually he’ll awake at the drop of a hat.
*Creeeeeeeek, creeeeeeeek.*
I consider jumping out the window. It’s about a fifteen-foot drop. That means I’ll probably break my ankle and who knows what other bones if I attempt it. I can barely move anyway. If I do, it’ll hear me.
I shut my eyes. I’m crying now. These aren’t tears of sadness. These are borne of pure helplessness. There’s nothing I can do.
Then the light in the upstairs hallway comes on. Or, someone turned it on. I grab Dozer and pull him into my chest. Like this little creature should be the one who protects me. He licks at my face, then promptly goes back to sleep.
There’s another creek. This one is different though. This is the one that the hardwood floors—not the stairs—make. One more of those will mean it’ll be within arm’s reach of my bedroom door. Then it’ll open it, and…
*Hey y’all prepare yourselves for the rubber band man…*
The Spinners’ classic plays on my phone. It’s my alarm tone. It’s 7:00 a.m. Time to get up and get ready for another day’s work. I don’t particularly like my job at Sewell and Associates, but it pays the bills. More importantly, while I’m there, I don’t have to think about it.
But when I’m alone—at home, in my car, wherever—I do. The Dark Lord has some nasty magic indeed.
“Sometimes I can’t believe that *he’s* my son.”
Or was it, “Sometimes I really worry about my son?”
I’m twelve years old. Like most twelve-year-olds I can be pretty obnoxious. But I don’t think I’m that bad.
“He doesn’t play sports, he has no friends. All he does is spend all day on that computer of his.”
Or was it, “He really needs to spend a little less time on the computer.”
I don’t know.
Dad is talking to one of his friends. Which one was it?
I’m supposed to be asleep. I slink back to my room. Not because I’m afraid of getting in trouble. But because of how it would make my dad feel if he knew I heard those things. If… if that’s what he actually said. I think he said them…
I walk into the office. Nicoleta sees me and smiles.
“Miles!” she cries.
She walks over to me and grabs my arm. “That ending! That ending! I was like… ‘what!?’”
Nicoleta is from Romania. She moved here with her husband a few years ago. I’m pretty sure he’s in the mob, but that’s another story. Now, Nicoleta grew up in a small, conservative, rural village back in Romania. Which meant that remained sheltered from many aspects of American culture. Since we’ve known each other, I’ve introduced her to several TV shows I’ve watched. *Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Game of Thrones* and now *The Sopranos.*
I can’t help but return the smile. Her enthusiasm is infectious. And Nicoleta is looking especially good today. She’s wearing too much perfume, but damn.
“So he got whacked, no?” she asks.
She pulls herself closer to me. Probably a little closer than is necessary. We flirt sometimes. But I’ve never attempted to take it anywhere. Partly because of how things ended with Carlie. I don’t want a repeat of what happened there. Partly because I seriously don’t want to find out if my suspicions about her husband are actually true.
“I think so. But it’s sort of up to you to decide,” I answer.
Throughout the day, Nicoleta will come into my office. Maybe more than she has to. To show me some work, only to have us end up in flirtatious conversation that will lead absolutely nowhere.
“Happy hour at Sancho’s. Want to get a drink after work?”
Man I love her accent. I could just listen to her talk.
“Well, I…” I stammer. Remember what I said about this leading nowhere and why?
“Promised my mom I’d do dinner with her tonight. Been putting it off forever.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet, Miles.” She touches my cheek, smiles, and walks out of my office.
Then it’s time to go home.
I have to pull over to the side of the road. I’m crying so hard I can barely see. Barely breathe. I remember—I think—who dad was talking to. It was granddad. The man I loved more than anyone. The best man I’ve ever known. My dad was saying these things to grandad and grandad was agreeing with him.
Was grandad mad at me for letting him die?
Wait, that makes no sense. Grandad didn’t die until… he didn’t die until a year after this. Miles can remember it plain as day. He was there. And he didn’t do anything. Granddad had one of those Jolly Ranchers in his mouth, accidentally swallowed it and…
You just sat there and you watched him die.
No wonder dad and grandad were saying those things about you.
“Your battle with me will never truly be over. And do you know why?”
He laughs as the realization dawns my face. Right up until I plunge the knife into his chest.
They called me a hero when I killed him. But I don’t feel that way. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any sense of misplaced guilt for slaying the Dark Lord. But there’s no pride to be had in it either.
Now I’m lying in bed. My Jack Russell terrier, Dozer, is snuggled against my head. It’s a cold, rainy night. The kind of night that makes you want to crawl underneath your covers and sleep for twelve hours straight.
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Echoes of A Hero
The young adventurer strode confidently to tavern counter to ask the barkeep if there was any questing to be had around the town. His glimmering sword clattered noisily against his armor with every step and his pack looked heavy with supplies. Before he could reach the front, a cloaked figure raised one gnarled hand and beckoned him to the dark corner where they sat alone.
Eager to learn anything he could about this place, the adventurer hastily made his way to the table and sat down across from the figure. The wizened face of an old man stared back at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, save for a great sorrow that could be seen in his eyes. He spoke with a voice as thin as spider’s silk.
“What is your name, young man?” Tye old man leaned forward, as if to get a better look at the adventurer.
“Arthos, wise sir. I am looking for opportunities for a grand quest and was hoping this tavern would bear fruit.” The words spilled from Arthos’ mouth, betraying his serious tone with their bubbling excitement.
“Arthos” said the old man, pausing as though he had to examine the name “Very well. You may call me Dalthanius”.
At the mention of the old man’s name, Arthos sat bolt upright. What was barely contained excitement before burst forth in a wave of admiration and disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean Dalthanius, Savior of Men? You are my greatest inspiration! I had always hoped since I was a child that I could be half the hero you were!”
The sadness in Dalthanius’ eyes grew more apparent and the air around him seemed to still. His whisper thin voice still carried a great deal of power. “I had feared that was the case. Go home child, there is no glory in what you seek”.
All at once the smile came crashing down from Arthos’ face. He opened his mouth to protest, but the old hero cut him off.
“I have heard every argument there is. All the reasons I should be proud of my work and how grand it must have felt to save the realm. But nobody who’s told me all these things knows what it was really like. Do you know what it was like, Arthos”?
Again, Arthos tried to reply, stammering out an “I-I” before going quiet again. Dalthanius resumed
“You don’t know the half of it. I killed countless people, child. Dozens and dozens, maybe even hundreds of men, broken by years of poisonous ideology, but no other crime than that. They didn’t think they were evil, in their eyes they weren’t.” The great sadness that could be felt in the presence of the hero flashed into red hot anger “and what good has truly come from my work? Our kingdom is safe, but the land to the east is left as a barren wasteland, ravaged by war. It’s few citizens who remain are living in abject poverty or rotting in our prisons. I cannot in good conscience allow others to follow in my footsteps “.
Arthos seemed to have been stunned by the words of the man across the table. He stood silently and looked down at the Savior of Men for a long moment before undoing the fasteners that held his sword to his armor. Wordlessly he placed the sword on the table between them and left the tavern.
Dalthanius sighed and picked up the sword, balancing its heavy steel between his frail hands. He unsheathed it for a moment, allowing his eyes to meet his reflection in the polished blade for a moment before putting the blade away once again. With a shake of his head, he propped the sword up in the corner behind his table where a dozen or more other swords sat gathering dust.
Never again.
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[WP] Whenever you sneeze, the nearest goose lays a golden egg. You've managed to keep it a secret, surprising the odd farmer here and there. But people are beginning to get ideas.
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A sunny day in the country. The sky blue and cloud-streaked. And the air smells of hay and cattle and poultry and...pepper? I don't actually know how pepper is grown. I presume that it grows on shrubs, but I'm talking about black pepper here, so...*Aachhawww!*
The sneezes come in fits and one is followed by several more. I heard the familiar cackle of geese all around me. Mr. Wilson's grounds, his ponds, his geese.
I walked into the wooden outhouse they have on the side of the road. The door was closed. I knocked.
Roland Winters, the head farmer/manager of farm personnel opened the door. His haggard old face lit up. The peppery smell was stronger here.
"Planning on pepper farming, Mr. Winters?"
Mr. Winters's face fell into loose folds and resolved itself into a solemn frown. "No. Whatever gave you the idea. No, we're not."
"Then what's with the peppery smell around here?"
"What pepper?" He raised his face and sniffed the air like a dog. "I don't smell no peppers."
Meanwhile an intense peppery smell emanated from his room. The smell was so peppery that it seemed more like an imitation of pepper than anything else, like pepper spray, only less chemical or artificial.
"But there's a smell right here...I can smell it."
Mr. Winters scowled and crossed his arms. "Well, I can't."
"Maybe it's because there's a stronger smell coming from inside your room Mr. Winters," I suggested.
"You ought to get your nose checked Mr. Chambers. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to arrange feed for the geese and the dealer said that I should phone him about now."
He didn't check the time on his non-existent wristwatch.
"Do you have a handkerchief?"
"No," Mr. Winters said and bid me farewell.
So my house is near the farms of Mr. Wilson and really there's no need of excessive grooming here in the country where nobody is really expected to bump into you without any prior arrangements, and taking all that into consideration I wiped my nose on the back of my shirtsleeve which then glistened golden in the setting sun.
In front of my house, a humble cottage, I found a group of five farmers. I didn't recognize any of them. They had with themselves flowerpots with the biggest flowers I had ever seen.
"This is for you," said a fat, balding farmer in overalls.
"All of these flowers?"
"Yes."
"If you don't mind my asking, why?"
"A gesture from...neighbors."
"Neighbors?"
"We're from B---- county. You know-"
"That's ten miles away!"
"That's how it goes in the country."
An evening breeze buffeted us. My nose started twitching and *aachhaawwww...aacchhawwww...* then the familiar cackle of geese nearby. It came from the pickup truck parked in my driveway.
"You..Yours?" I asked as I wiped away the tears and caught my breath.
"Yes," the farmer replied and bade me farewell and good health.
I stared at the flowerpots. All the flowers were surprisingly pollen-abundant. I hurled them away as far as I could into the shrubs behind my cottage.
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I discovered that whenever I sneeze the nearest goose would lay a golden egg on a school trip to the zoo. It was springtime and I have allergies, and as we were passing by the birds I was hit with a sneezing fit. A nearby goose suddenly squawked loudy and there it was - a golden egg glistening in the sunshine. No one knew why it happened and our teacher quickly hurried us out the gate and back onto the bus due to the commotion it caused.
Years later I bought a house in a rural area surrounded by farms. I preferred the quiet here, the noise of the city was too harsh for me to deal with. I had long forgotten about the egg incident at the zoo until the day I decided to take a walk into town shortly after moving in - it wasn't very far. Unbeknown to me the neighbor had a flock of geese in their yard and wouldn't you know it, I sneezed. I heard a loud squawk from the goose closest to me and saw the flash of gold laying on the lawn. I hurried on my way and picked up my groceries in town. On the way back I noticed the neighbor out in the yard - he was very excited and in his hand was the egg.
"Would you look at this!" he exclaimed "One of my geese just laid this!" I looked at the egg and replied "That sure is something. Does it happen often?" He replied that he'd never seen it happen before... and as he was talking to me it happened. I sneezed again. SQUAWK! And suddenly another golden egg. I apologized and excused myself, hurrying back home - but I noticed the neighbor staring at me with a strange look on his face. A few days later he and his wife invited me to dinner at their house. I had my misgivings, but I wanted to be neighborly so I went. Just to be on the safe side I took some antihistamine before I left. The meal was uneventful but pleasant and I stayed and visited with them for a few hours, but then I felt it. That tickle in my nose. The antihistamine was wearing off. I tried to excuse myself and leave quickly but at the door while saying goodbye it happened. I sneezed and we heard the squawk. The neighbor got a funny look on his face and went to check out the goose. I left in a hurry.
The very next day there was a knock at my door and when I opened it, there was the neighbor. He had a goose under one arm and a container of pepper in his other hand. Before I could say anything, he shook the pepper in my direction and I began to sneeze violently. The poor goose was squawking like crazy, golden eggs falling to the ground everywhere. He released the goose and gathered the eggs excitedly and then yelled thank you over his shoulder as he ran away with them.
After that the harassment became endless. I can't leave my house anymore because word has gotten out. Suddenly half the town had pet geese and had taken to carrying cans of pepper on them. If someone spotted me a crowd would form and the pepper would rain down while they thrust their geese toward me to get a gold egg. I had considered moving away but they had people watching the house and waiting for me to step outside.
I tried to move in the middle of the night but I was caught by one of the townspeople. Since then I've been locked up in the guys basement along with several geese. Every day he comes down and brings me food, and as always a shaker of pepper.
I miss living in the city.
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[WP]Among heroes, you are known as the call that can wait. You rob banks, steal artworks, deface buildings, the likes. Among villains, you are to be left alone under any circumstances. Somebody didn't get the memo, and now they're paying for it, with interest.
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"It's good to be bad."
I can't remember where, or who, those words had come from. But in my long and prosperous career, those words had become something to live by. With every bank I strode into, every car I blatantly stole in broad daylight, every single piece of art taken, I became more and more sure of the path I was taking. Enamored with and enabled by the world in which I could commit to any desire I chose, all for one simple reason.
Any crime I committed would be the worst the world would experience that day. Any that would try, say murder when I only stole a bike that day, would find themselves unable and unwilling to go through with it. Any methods used during the crime turn into requirements as well. No guns during a bank job means that noone could bring firepower of any kind. Since I don't use tools and usually walk right in and ask for my money, that means that even the robberies that day are almost impossible to complete.
And so, at least in my lifetime of "Villainy", most major crimes vanished. Because of my power of "A Necessary Evil."
In a world where the crimes were mostly mundane and easy enough for the heroes to arrive and solve, I was always left alone for fear of the days past. Where any megalomaniac with enough cash or vengeance in their heart could decide to be the next Captain Destructio, or a two bit thief falls into something convenient and they experience a lucrative career shift to villainy after manifesting an ability that puts him on par with an atomic missile.
So the world let me be.
I'd have been worried about said Villains holding a grudge and coming after me somehow, unable to achieve their goals and finding a new purpose in my downfall. It was sort of a baseless fear, as long as I didn't commit murder then neither could anyone else, but that fear was the only thing still somewhat keeping me on my toes. Heroes were simple enough, they knew the drill and any excuse for a continued peaceful existence was good enough for them.
But a Villain is someone who chose desire over justice. That craving, that strive for their goals, will cause them to turn over every rock. They take the slights against them and let it become their everything. Devoting every moment and resource just to see your downfall.
And today, my fear is realized.
It was the same bank I would heist every other Monday, specifically because there was a guy named Greg there who was a shithead in high-school, and him handing over the comically large money bags I brought with me full of legal tender was always a highlight of my week.
When I left, I'd stopped to bask in the usual stares and whispers of the (adoring) public, only to come face to face with a old and unpleasant man. It was crinkled in the sunlight, pale skin glistening with sweat as he heaved breath after breath. Few strands of hair clung to his scalp, graying from the red it had once been.
Jerry Kingstrom, AKA The Mishappening. His power was one of unfortune, causing mishaps ranging from the small to the large. An old stage magician turned unintentional supervillain after finding out his power was the reason all of his equipment kept breaking down, assistants getting injured, and a multitude of other accidents. No one ever really died, but the resulting lawsuits and such drove the man to a life of crime. If one could say that heroes constantly thwarting him with next to no trouble was a life of crime.
In every way, this man was my opposite. Everything I chose to do was deliberate, done with precision, validated by the masses and possessed a perfect crimerate of 100% success.
Jerry was a blundering old relic, clinging to a past that wasn't ever really that glorious, accidentally stumbling into whatever success came in his career. Blaming me for the end of an "era" in our history.
But it was the fact his powers were based on chance that gave this man the best and only way to beat me. It was a baseless conclusion, but every other that came before always dealt in the deliberate.
That moment of wonder, of me staring and trying to figure out his motives were all it took.
So when I felt my foot catch on a divet in the pavement and fell towards the speeding traffic ahead of me, I took one last glance back at the man that would be the death of me. He was smiling of course, smug bitch that he was, after putting an end to his careers supposed killer. He hadn't pushed me, merely stood by and trusted that the rest would fall into place.
The impact came, bones shattered, flesh rending against unforgiving metal. Blood choking the air from my lungs, ragdolling to a stop amidst screeching tires.
The laughter.
The laughter somehow was the loudest.
I could see him, through darkened vision, going off like the maniac he was. And what for?
Because he was going to kill me?
Because the peace would soon be broken?
Because my body lying there was just that funny?
He turned to leave, no doubt wary of the heroes that were arriving. I could see the flashes of cameras and phones, probably trying to catch my last moments in fine detail for the papers later.
And once I drew my last breath, I saw no more.
But you know, even if unintentionally, my death was still the result of a crime. And as by the rules I've worked out with "A Necessary Evil" then.
The flashes grew more intense.
The gasps fueled me further.
The grin on my face when I walked up to my would be killer and continued right past him.
The sounds of The Mishappening's screams of agitation suddenly silenced by the screeching of a second vehicle hitting him at full force was just the icing on the cake.
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The buzzing of my phone woke me up. The one I used to communicate with the heroes.
Ugh. *I'm outside. We need to talk. -Bloodhound.*
Stifling the urge to kill him was second nature. Very few of my impulses were under my control, but at least I'd learned to keep a handle on the worst of them.
Without drawing on even the tiniest part of my power reserves, I materialized a clone at the door to check out my visitor. While I was muzzily rubbing my eyes in bed, trying to shake my sprawled limbs into working order, I was also just outside my apartment, fully dressed and completely alert.
"Bloodhound? What the fudge, man? You gotta know waking me up" - I spun up a new clone in the kitchen to check the time, then dismissed it instantly -" at seven in the morning is about the dumbest thing you could do. You got a death wish?"
"Had a Death Wish," he replied in that gravelly voice of his, the one that I'd seen stop hardened criminals in their tracks when they heard it hissing from the shadows of a dark alleyway. "You saw that nasty business the other week. Maniac took a kid hostage, and, well... I just tried to disable him, but the stress of the situation got to me. Accidentally shot the bastard dead." Beneath his dog mask, the lower half of his jowly face twisted into a smirk that'd fit more on a ten year old boy who'd snuck a frog into his teacher's desk drawer than on a middle-aged superhero. "No more Death Wish."
In addition to the preternatural sense of smell that gave the grizzled old sleuth his codename, Bloodhound also had enhanced vision, reflexes and coordination. If he'd killed that low rent villain, it had been fully intentional. Lethal force was very much frowned upon by the United Defenders when there was another way to resolve things, especially since Bloodhound had long since proven to be a dab hand at deescalating much hairier situations. To me, however, Bloodhound's penchant for skirting the rules was why I liked the guy enough to let him be the go-between for me and the UD.
Without my conscious direction, three mes had appeared around him, opening up the compartments of his utility belt, toying idly with the gadgets they (I? we?) found inside. I'd simply been wondering what new stuff he might be taking in the field with him lately, and they'd materialized automatically to follow through on that thought. With practiced stoicism, he simply lifted his arms to give me easier access.
Behind us, my door swung open to let the hero inside. While the me I'd had talking to him vanished, fading from reality like a puddle drying up on a hot sidewalk, two others had been undoing the door chain and unlocking the deadbolt. I stood those two bodies aside with a theatrical arm flourish as he entered, and handed him back his gear using the other three bodies. All five were dismissed immediately after.
"In all seriousness, I am sorry to disturb you, Fractal, but we have a problem. An emergency." He remained standing in the foyer, projecting his voice to my room where his augmented senses could pinpoint the location of my "main" body. We'd been through this routine enough that he knew he could pick up the thread with any me that hadn't been present at the start of a conversation; all my minds and all my memories are fungible that way.
Bloodhound filled me in on the UD's latest skirmish with an up-and-coming supervillain looking to add our city to their growing territory. Apparently, there was a fairly epic battle going on just blocks away. Miss Independent and Cavalcade were duking it out with a giant robot the villain had unleashed while Pilgrim Mage used her portals to assist with a hasty evacuation of civilians. The best soundproofing money could buy kept all the chaos outside. Unless the action had moved much closer, I doubt I would have woken up at all.
&#x200B;
End Part 1. I know it's not really a great stopping place, but this is the most I've pushed out all at once basically ever. I love the concept and have some idea where to go but I'm totally beat for right now.
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[WP] I helped out some fairies, and in thanks they gave me a bag of candy that never runs out. I just got back from the dentist, and…
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\[Sweet Introduction\]
"I hope I'm not too late," Valentine sighed to herself as she walked out of the portal. She was glad to still see several dozens of students still arriving through various portals and headed towards the main building. She followed the closest group and noticed that two of the girls didn't seem to be part of the larger group. A short girl with almost neon orange hair, and a taller, lithe girl with blonde hair. They were walking slower than the rest and engaged with their own conversation. Throughout junior high, Valentine preferred to keep to herself; however, this school was different. The Nexus Academy promised every student was as Unique as she was, and she decided the night before to try and make friends. Valentine moved closer to the girl as they walked, then turned to her as they neared the school.
"Hi, you guys want some candy?" Valentine asked. She offered an open red velvet pouch. The girls stopped walking while the rest of the kids moved on without them.
"Hi, sure!" The orange-haired girl said. She eagerly reached her hand into the pouch.
"It's kind of early for candy...," the blonde girl said.
"I'm taking hers!" the orange-haired girl said. Valentine nodded.
"I'm Valentine," she said.
"My name's Petunia, and she's Riot," the blonde girl introduced both of them as Riot pulled her hand out of the bag clutching a rainbow of sweets.
"Whoa! That's everything I wanted! Is it Unique?" Riot asked as she looked over her spoils. Valentine shook her head.
"I don't think so; it doesn't have a number. I think it's just enchanted," she shrugged. "When I was younger I helped out some fairies and they gave me this bag that never runs out," she said.
"Fairies!? That's so cool!" Riot exclaimed.
"Oh wow, that sounds horrible for your teeth...," Petunia said. Her voice was low, almost like she didn't mean to say it aloud. Valentine smiled broad and showed Petunia her perfect white teeth.
"I literally just came from the dentist, I was worried about being late," she said. "But, not a cavity in sight."
"Really?" Petunia asked. She seemed interested and took a subconscious step forward. "Even when you were younger you took care of your teeth?" Valentine shook her head.
"Nah. But, you know, fairies gave it to me," she shrugged. "It's magic candy. But, it's useful for my abilities too," she said, then put a hand on her chest. "#27, el corazón."
"La calavera," Riot raised her hand to shoulder height to introduce herself, then she pointed at Petunia. "La maceta," she said.
"What's your ability?" Petunia asked. "Mundo said el corazón is the most random Unique." Valentine nodded, then she reached into her candy bag. She pulled out a colorful, translucent gummy spider then held it on her palm in front of Riot and Petunia.
"I can do this," she said. The floppy, squiggly spider jumped up and landed on its eight legs in her palm. It crawled, perfectly spider like to the edge of her fingers towards Riot. Then, it jumped at her face. Petunia flinched in surprise but Riot opened her mouth and let it fall in. She closed her mouth and started chewing.
"That's so cool!" Riot grinned as she chewed with her mouth open.
"Uh oh," Petunia spoke up. She was looking around them and Valentine looked up too. They were now the only students not in the school. "Better get going," she said. She grabbed Riot's hand and pulled her towards the school. But, Riot waved at Valentine to follow them.
"C'mon! You need to stick close to us," she said. She raised the candy clutching hand. "This won't last me until lunch."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1341 in a row. (Story #249 in year four.).
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I dug a spot to bury a little fairy on my backyard.
Its corpse was in a non-synthetic shopping bag. You could only see the budge of it's little face and its body. Probably its arms and legs were a little small to create a hump on the bag.
I put its body delicately in the grave. After a bit of pondering I noticed the now empty bag to the side. It had been in many shapes and forms. When I first had it, another fairy told me it could contain limitless supply of what I want as long as I follow one rule.
My neighbor was watching me. The old lady is probably thinking I am burying my cat. She was sad crying on her window, just watching me. I waved at her, she waved kindheartedly and said something like my condolences, exaggerating her lip movements so I can read her lips, while putting her hand on her chest. She was a cat lady for sure. How would she react if she had known that this was not a cat, or who killed this fairy.
Fairies are not something supernatural to me anymore. I met them long ago when I was a kid. After a while they were quite fond of me. When it was against the rules for me to see them anymore, around age of 8, they asked me if I wanted a parting gift. I asked for a box of candies. They thought better than my child mind and instead gave me this gift to fulfill almost every desire I had.
I could not risk anyone seeing this dead fairy of course. From up close it was definitely not a cat. I started putting the dirt back to the hole. As I raised up, I could not see my neighbor anymore. I should get back in I thought.
I should get back in there and make sure we got this nasty fellow of yours this time, he said. A few hours ago Dr Gable, my dentist, was trying to perform a canal operation on me. I was not in pain other than the pain that is caused by my wide open jaw, for him to reach back of my teeth. There I got it, he exclaimed. I could feel the pain now, but also the sweat release of the ache that was there before.
He continued with the treatment, bleached the hole and filled it up. Before I get going, could I have my tooth, I asked. He joked about tooth fairies, of course. What are you going to do, give it to the fairies. I did not like the joke because I was 30 and tooth fairies were real.
I was not in the mood. I don't know if he could read it in my face but suddenly he changed his posture and whispered. Did you see them too?
Boy, I was not expecting that. He told me his story. When he was a kid, the same thing happened to him. Only there were no gifts. I told him my story and the gift, what I received from them. He wanted to see it and I showed him my wallet. It changes shape too you know. Whatever I want it to be. He asked, so if you can get infinite money, why are you living like a normal person. I replied there is a catch.
I felt anxious, I should have been more careful hiding my secrets. Even though, we had a common history did not mean he would not get greedy.
Are you gonna tell me or what? He asked furiously. Well, I said. If you use the magic bag very selfishly, strange things start to happen.
Bullshit! Give it to me.. He tried to grab the wallet out of my hand, but I held tight on to it. We started struggling for it. Well he had one of his sharp tools lying around and he reached for it. I imagined the wallet turning into a zap cane holder. Tased him but also myself by accident. I drifted off.
To be continued..
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[WP] I helped out some fairies, and in thanks they gave me a bag of candy that never runs out. I just got back from the dentist, and…
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\[Sweet Introduction\]
"I hope I'm not too late," Valentine sighed to herself as she walked out of the portal. She was glad to still see several dozens of students still arriving through various portals and headed towards the main building. She followed the closest group and noticed that two of the girls didn't seem to be part of the larger group. A short girl with almost neon orange hair, and a taller, lithe girl with blonde hair. They were walking slower than the rest and engaged with their own conversation. Throughout junior high, Valentine preferred to keep to herself; however, this school was different. The Nexus Academy promised every student was as Unique as she was, and she decided the night before to try and make friends. Valentine moved closer to the girl as they walked, then turned to her as they neared the school.
"Hi, you guys want some candy?" Valentine asked. She offered an open red velvet pouch. The girls stopped walking while the rest of the kids moved on without them.
"Hi, sure!" The orange-haired girl said. She eagerly reached her hand into the pouch.
"It's kind of early for candy...," the blonde girl said.
"I'm taking hers!" the orange-haired girl said. Valentine nodded.
"I'm Valentine," she said.
"My name's Petunia, and she's Riot," the blonde girl introduced both of them as Riot pulled her hand out of the bag clutching a rainbow of sweets.
"Whoa! That's everything I wanted! Is it Unique?" Riot asked as she looked over her spoils. Valentine shook her head.
"I don't think so; it doesn't have a number. I think it's just enchanted," she shrugged. "When I was younger I helped out some fairies and they gave me this bag that never runs out," she said.
"Fairies!? That's so cool!" Riot exclaimed.
"Oh wow, that sounds horrible for your teeth...," Petunia said. Her voice was low, almost like she didn't mean to say it aloud. Valentine smiled broad and showed Petunia her perfect white teeth.
"I literally just came from the dentist, I was worried about being late," she said. "But, not a cavity in sight."
"Really?" Petunia asked. She seemed interested and took a subconscious step forward. "Even when you were younger you took care of your teeth?" Valentine shook her head.
"Nah. But, you know, fairies gave it to me," she shrugged. "It's magic candy. But, it's useful for my abilities too," she said, then put a hand on her chest. "#27, el corazón."
"La calavera," Riot raised her hand to shoulder height to introduce herself, then she pointed at Petunia. "La maceta," she said.
"What's your ability?" Petunia asked. "Mundo said el corazón is the most random Unique." Valentine nodded, then she reached into her candy bag. She pulled out a colorful, translucent gummy spider then held it on her palm in front of Riot and Petunia.
"I can do this," she said. The floppy, squiggly spider jumped up and landed on its eight legs in her palm. It crawled, perfectly spider like to the edge of her fingers towards Riot. Then, it jumped at her face. Petunia flinched in surprise but Riot opened her mouth and let it fall in. She closed her mouth and started chewing.
"That's so cool!" Riot grinned as she chewed with her mouth open.
"Uh oh," Petunia spoke up. She was looking around them and Valentine looked up too. They were now the only students not in the school. "Better get going," she said. She grabbed Riot's hand and pulled her towards the school. But, Riot waved at Valentine to follow them.
"C'mon! You need to stick close to us," she said. She raised the candy clutching hand. "This won't last me until lunch."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1341 in a row. (Story #249 in year four.).
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It was a good day. I just got back from the dentist and I had no cavities. This had nothing to do with what I ate-- after all, I was eating a bag of candy every day-- and simply because I wasn't an idiot, or lazy.
Long ago, when I was younger, I did have a cavity and it was the most painful thing in the world. It hurt very much. And I was young and pretty passive and didn't know I was supposed to mention that I didn't get enough novocaine. I tried raising my hand and doing other stuff, but I was very little and the dentist was very big, so I just had to deal with it.
It was a terrible experience, though, and to this day I avoid old white male doctors. However, it drilled in me (no pun intended) a desire to never go through that sort of experience again. So I learned everything I could about dental care. I started going to a dental hygienist every 2 months instead of every 3 or every 6, and I made sure to floss twice a day and brush my teeth three times a day. I got a night guard for when I slept to keep my teeth perfect even when I twisted and turned the rest of my body, and I always wash down my candy snacks with some celery, carrots, apples and so forth. I did a very quick mini-floss after each candy snack, too.
Well, my dermatologist isn't so thrilled with how my skin is looking these days, and my regular doctors wants to me increase my exercise regimen and go on a diet, but my dentist... she has no complaints with me at all!
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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*CRACK*
The sound of thunder from the Gods rings through the valley. One single man decorated in the most elaborate armor, made from the finest steel, slumps down on his horse. After a moments breathe he rolls off. The stillness is haunting. All soldiers eyes turn and stare in bewilderment.
The soldiers in the valley begin their murmurings. Some mutterings of "lightning?" and "gods?", and mentions of the clear skies. Nothing touched him. Atleast not what they could see.
The knights near the decorated man rush over as the shock begins to fade. "Father! FATHER!!" cries out from one of the sons. The men around trying all their wisdom and knowledge combined but no movement stirs in the fallen man.
The sun continued its daily trek through the sky just like any other day. As the light begin its slumber the army of soldiers have since been reorganized and sent to their camps. Converataions filles with talk of the Fallen Enporer. The of knights and nobles among their ranks gather in the Fallen Emporer's tent.
As the last of nobles and knights enter the tent the individual conversations and dealings are halted by the young man seen weeping on the field. "My brothers, the City of Atlantis has struck a blow. We do not know how but-"
"We should head home at once" interrupts the Fallen Emporers old childhood friend. The head of the second highest house of nobles. The only higher ranked house is that of the Emperor's Family.
"Wait, hear me out Crighten!" Cries out the son of the Emporer.
"This isnt up to debate. We must return!" Responds Crighten.
"Hear out Aritea." States the Empires Arch General. A normally silent man of few words in his controlled absolute tone.
"He is just a boy! We cant let him decide our fates!" Rebuttals Crighten. Now with nobles and knights around nodding along.
"He is of the Emporer's blood. Next of the throne. He will speak his peace. You will all hear him! Is that understood?" Now with a controlled rage seeping out. The Arch General now nods to the boy after looking at the eyes of everyone in the room for confirmation.
"Thank you Arch General Rorick. Now we must talk to the City of Atlantis. We dont know how but they took out my father, our Emporer. The Great War blinded us to our surroundings. What we heard today was no fluke. The rumors of them controlling the power of gods with their new magic is unprecedented. Before we leave I would like to go and investigate their city."
All the knights and nobles start whispering as the prince continues. "They may of killed our Emperor. However the way I see it is we have one option. We must figure out how their magic works. Even if we can not use it. Their magic killed one man today. If it can only achieve that in a small scale we could still attack. My fear is it could be something greater. Due to this I request the before the return that me and my knight guard are granted permission to head to the City of Atlantis."
After a moment Crighten asks "and what if you die?".
"Then your family will rule."
"You know me and your father would not wish that. My daughter is awaiting your return!"
"I do not ask this out of revenge or hate. But if I am crowned to rule. Then I must know what I may have to face in the future. When I become the Emporer they may not grant me a chance to speak."
"And who says they will now? We declared war on them!"
"Well.. I..."
"Is this what you want?" Asks the Rorick in an unusually soft voice.
"Yes" weakly responds the prince.
"It will take more courage then that" states Rorick back to his usual tone.
After swallowing his insecurity "Yes!" confidently booms from the young man's mouth.
"Then let's vote. All those in favor of the Princes request salute".
Although it wasn't instant all but Crighten salute. After further discussion of where to place troops encase the prince is not granted entry. As well as a few other safety camps established depending on he various merchant exits from the city that may be needed. In the morning the prince and only his three closest Knights set off on horseback towards the city.
"Hault who goes there yells a guard from a top the gate"
"We should lie" whispers one of the knights.
Ignoring his comrades the prince yells "I am Prince Aritea of the Flaming Empire, I request an audience with your Cities Council."
"What is your reason for an audience?" Yells back the guard.
"I am hear to speak of my Fathers death"
"No outsider has entered the City in 200 years. Since the beginning of the Great War. The Council will not grant you entry for such a reason."
"Please, ask them. This is to avoid any future bloodshed."
"One moment" yells the guard as he picks up a weird metal slab and holds it against his ear. After a short conversation to himself he makes a motion they assume is to others on the wall and the gate rises.
"That worked whispered the knight that talked before. Lowering his hood showing a short blonde haircut.
"Yeah it did!" Responds the black haired brute of a lady.
"Come on how could you doubt this little darling. He's gotten us out of worse pickles! Remember the royal banquet. If it wasnt for him I would of been lost a hand!" Says the third knight that has vibrant red hair and green eyes of the slum district.
"You never did tell me how you snuck in Richard" stated the prince.
"Oh well... secrets is my speciality"
As the gate thuds against the top of the archway a group of men with weird metal sticks hang from their chest. The man in the center locks eyes with the prince and says" If you're all ready, follow me. If you step to far away we will shoot you"
"Shoot us? Is that a name of a spell?" Asks the prince. His friends now quiet and ready for any situation on a moments notice.
All the men around them chuckles quietly to themselves. The leader grinds and says "yeah... a spell".
Soon the men begin their journey through the city. Fountains shooting multiple stream with statues of intricate design. Buildings with designs that should not stand on their own yet do. Bewilder the minds of the four men.
Soon their approach a large glass sphere. "Inside here" as the men approach the doors they open. Yet no guards stand on the other side.
"Your magic is impressive! How do you all do it?" Asks the prince.
"Save your questions for the council" states the leader of the escort team.
After a couple of doors and stairs they enter a large room filled with plants. The light from outdoors shining in. A flowing river and beautiful birds and plants throughout the area. As they follow their detail to the center an open circle is engraved into the ground. With what looks like a coushin spread across the surface.
"Sit here and they will join you when they can" says their guards. Now moving to guard the surrounding area.
"What is the council?" Asks the brute of the lady.
"That's right only the nobles were taught of Atlantis culture. I forgot about that" Says the blonde haired knight. "Your oh great and mighty royalliness. Could you please educate your subjects!" Asks the man in an over dramatic voice.
"Please. I'm not the Emporer yet. Besides you guys will never have to treat me that way."
"Oh but we will!" Says Richard.
"Please dont!" Asks the prince.
"Can someone please answer my question!" Asks the lady.
The blonde knight smirkingly points at the prince. With a sigh the prince opens his mouth "Sorry Sarah, The City of Atlantis is ran by 'The Council'. This city was founded by 5 merchant families and through the centuries 5 more were added at various times. Well some other were added but all in all they stopped at 10. If your wealth and power falls, then a new merchant clan shall replace the old."
"So what there is just families constantly fighting over wealth?" Asks Richard.
"Yes and No. Like I said, over centuries. They rarely change merchant clans out. From our last report of a change in council one clan was purchasrd by another which opened up a spot. The city is governed by the 10 merchants. Their policies were to ensure fair trading eoth rivals. They follow a strict doctrine of regulations. I'm not sure what occured in the last 200 years. Once the Great War began they stopped allowing outsiders in. We ar probably the first outsiders in the last 200 years to enter".
After a brief moment Sarah says "Sounds like lazy spies to me!".
"No we tried everything nothing worked. Hell I didnt even think today would work. Yet here we are."
"Then why come?" Asks Richard.
"Have you not heard of their magic? My father knew we could not win. We have all heard the rumors of the iron dragons that leave this city. Before we marched on the field today my father knew his death was coming. We only marched because the noble families were convinced that they could profit from an easy ear. After all what is one city... one city.. god those fools. My father told me I would need to remedy our break of treaty with them at any cost. He gave his life knowing it. My role as his son is to carry out this task. The show in the tent was planned by us. We gave no room for the others to change our plans."
As those words are uttered 10 figures begin approaching the circle.
"Negotiations are beginning. Be quiet for now". Utters the prince as his test for the Thrown begins.
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The Free City had thought they were safe.
'They're spending everything they have on beeting eachother into the ground,' they thought. 'Our defencese are impenitrable.' It was only too late that anyone realized that a vey important export from that city was foreign weapons.
When the force of Brittanorum was displayed before The Free City, they saw the guns that their soldiers used. They saw their cannons, their boots, their weapons, their army. And they saw them in the hundreds of thousands. They saw an invasion force graeter than their population. They looked to their seas, and saw their ships, in the hudreds, their guns gleaming. They saw everything they had, even theoreticle formations, uniforms, some of the spies reported even seeing a new style of dress amongst the non-military nobility. There was only one thing amongst that entire force that no one could find. Hope. Hope for The Free City. In the early dawn, The City's commisioner recived an ultimatum: 'Surrender, or face your rapture.'
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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“Gentlemen, I called you all here with the intent of discussing a matter of utmost urgency and importance.”
The generals, admirals, economic ministers and military advisors of the Adleric Empire sat in silence, dwarfed by the statues of warriors long past that cast their looming, weighty shadows across the length of the Adlerland-Kriegshalle. In the thin light, the Chancellor speaking seemed very, very, small.
“I fear that our… tryst with the state that calls itself the Thalassocracy was a grave mistake.”
No one answered. No one had to. The silence, and implied agreement, was unanimous.
“But that is not why I have called you all here. What I would like to discuss is how we may be able to mitigate the consequences of this blunder.”
Mitigate. Not avoid. Not triumph. Mitigation--the action of reducing severity, as best as one could. Damage control--the last line of defence in the many layers of protection built up by Adlerland over the past two thousand years of war.
“We cannot win, gentlemen. We can only hope to lose as gracefully as we can.”
It was chilling. For as long as anyone could remember, Adlerland had been locked in deadly combat with its giant neighbour, the Sabal Protectorate. The Thalassocracy was a convenient, sometimes helpful companion that provided ships, weapons, missiles, you name it, they had it--to anyone with the money. No--not companion. Adlerland had viewed them like a season, or month, or time of day--omnipresent but meaningless. Compared with the hulking, heavily shielded dreadnoughts of Sabal, their tiny fleet posed little threat.
Thus, after wiping out their nemesis, it seemed straightforward to go ahead and annex the tiny state as well. It had started when the Chancellor and the leader of the Thalassocracy, an enigmatic man only known as the Provost, had met during a joint weapons exercise, the first time Adlerland dignitaries witnessed the Thalassocracy’s strength. The exercise was meant to be a farce, really, more to use a show of strength to frighten the Thalassocracy into submission than to achieve any real meaningful military cooperation.
*“We call these railguns,” The Chancellor announced. “They fire packets of charged particles, capable of disrupting shields and sometimes bypassing them completely.”*
*From the observation barge, both the Chancellor and the Provost watched the aforementioned weapons extend from the hull of the Nulli Secunda, the flagship of Adlerland’s fleet. Representing the cutting edge of the Empire’s technology, it had been this very weapon that had laid waste to Sabal’s defenses in the last stages of the war. The Chancellor smiled as the broadside of the Nulli Secunda erupted in writhing arcs of electricity as the guns fired on the target, a captured Sabal dreadnought, spitting bolts of glowing light that impacted on its shield, which flickered momentarily, then gave way, allowing the bolts to smash into its armour, vaporising metal in moments.*
*“Now that we have witnessed each other’s strength, we would like to request your cooperation in future matters.” The implied message was clear.*
*The Chancellor had not expected the Provost’s reply in a million years. “Those? We already had them a couple hundred years ago. But yours are very nice.”*
The Chancellor thought the Provost was lying, trying to buy time for a doomed people. The war began two months later, and the Thalassocracy’s retaliation.
No. Not retaliation. A massacre, driven by the cold rage of retribution.
Entire fleets were wiped out by weapons that they couldn’t even see. Microwave lasers ripped shields apart and cooked crews inside their ships. The Nulli Secunda was destroyed by a single torpedo, the guided weapon dodging and weaving around its point-defense fire and completely bypassing its enhanced shielding, not once broken during its eight-hundred-year tour of duty. It burrowed deep into the ship’s very core and then detonated in a flash of light. There was nothing left, not even any wreckage. Just a swirling ball of molten dust. It was never found out exactly what had fired the devastating shot.
And then came the slaughter. Bombs containing millions of tiny machines exploded over planets, blocking out the sun and jamming communications. Within weeks, the afflicted planet would be plunged into an ice age, killing every human that resided on its surface slowly and painfully. Shells that burst open to release clouds of viruses that rampaged over worlds, heedless of cure or treatment. Each one was different. Some targeted the lungs, others the liver. Still others caused madness, or melted one’s skin off. The only similarities were their lack of mercy, killing regardless of age, race or creed. Worse, still, were the missiles that contained within them a tiny embryo, which would, on impact, grow into grotesque monstrosities dozens of metres high, sloughing radioactive blood and steaming flesh and programmed with a murderous urge. Even at the height of its power, Adlerland had not slaughtered in such great numbers, or with such callous cruelty. Civilians died by the score, choking on their own blood as plagues devoured them. Children, crushed by hot, radioactive rubble into red paste. Babies born with nothing but bone where their brain and eyes should have been, their tiny bodies twitching lifelessly in a mockery of life.
The Empire lost everything in a matter of weeks.
“Mitigate? How?”
“What can we do?”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“How can you say there is hope? We have tickled the dragon’s tail, and now it has come to destroy us!”
“Quiet! Quiet!”
“Gentlemen, I must beseech you to have order. The Thalassocracy is powerful, but I do not think they can reach us here, in our capital, yet. We must use what remaining time we have left to engineer a solution.”
For the next hour, the men in the Kriegshalle spoke in softer, hushed tones. Then, unbeknownst to them, high above their heads, eighteen missiles powered off their Alcubierre drives and dropped into sublight orbit above the capital planet of Adlerland, population fifteen billion. Each one housing within itself more explosive energy than a star and cloaked from detection by technology so advanced it was practically witchcraft, they turned as one, and then, like spears of God, began to plunge towards the ground.
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The Free City had thought they were safe.
'They're spending everything they have on beeting eachother into the ground,' they thought. 'Our defencese are impenitrable.' It was only too late that anyone realized that a vey important export from that city was foreign weapons.
When the force of Brittanorum was displayed before The Free City, they saw the guns that their soldiers used. They saw their cannons, their boots, their weapons, their army. And they saw them in the hundreds of thousands. They saw an invasion force graeter than their population. They looked to their seas, and saw their ships, in the hudreds, their guns gleaming. They saw everything they had, even theoreticle formations, uniforms, some of the spies reported even seeing a new style of dress amongst the non-military nobility. There was only one thing amongst that entire force that no one could find. Hope. Hope for The Free City. In the early dawn, The City's commisioner recived an ultimatum: 'Surrender, or face your rapture.'
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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Commander Justinius Belthazar, Third of His Royal and Most Noble Name, Heir to the Belthazar House and Commander Most High of the Imperial Military, was beginning to develop a migraine.
He'd been trudging through the mountains and valleys for weeks now, wrangling troops and pack beasts alike into some semblance of order and dignity as they marched to their destination; the dwarve's merchant city-state of Thulkalduhr, or however the Nine Hells those blasted runty alcoholics pronounced it. It had sat on the sidelines between a great war that had for generations ravaged the continent, elves and humans both clashing over some old territorial dispute that frankly everyone had forgotten about. But with the elves thoroughly trounced by the glorious, truly might emperor and his legions of perfect soldiers, the eye of the empire turned to a new target... the dwarves, and the vast amounts of gold they most certainly owned.
He knew that this would be a grand victory for the empire. A show of force that would fill their coffers to overflowing, allowing them unparalleled rule over the continent and unprecedented comfort and security for their citizens. He knew this, but his patience for this damnable march was being sorely tested as he listened to the sounds of animals braying, men talking and arguing, and-
"Sir! Sir!"
"Oh for the emperor's sake, what is it now?!"
The courier skidded to a halt just before the commander's drake, panting heavily as he regained his breath. "We... *huff*... we're nearing... *puff*..."
"Nearing *what* you incompetent dunce? Yet another mountain pass? Another roadblock? What? What is it this time??"
"N-no, sir, we're... we're nearing Thulkalduhr! We're about a day's march away!"
The commander sighed in clear relief. "Oh thank His holy name... be back on your way boy."
"Yessir!"
"One more day," Justinius muttered to himself. "One more day and this will all be over..."
\-------------------
At long last, after what felt like an age of marching, after miles upon miles trudging through mountain and through valley, through weather fair and foul, they had reached the gates of Thulkalduhr. It was silent, with no other travelers on the road besides the army itself, and the gates were sealed shut-a rare occurrence indeed.
The commander smirked as he strode forward between rows upon rows of perfectly aligned soldiers, all bearing the weapons that these dwarves had made and all clad in the shining mithral armor created deep within Thulkalduhr. Fitting, he supposed, that their downfall would be by the same weapons they created...
As he made his way to the gate, he prepared the speech he had made; however, as he watched, a large panel opened up in the wall and a large, cone-like device popped out.
"OI! STATE YER NAME AND BUSINESS!" the cone bellowed; seemed a dwarf was shouting from the other end of it. Justinius winced, but weathered forward.
"Dwarves of Thulkalduhr-"
"WE ENT JUST DWARVES YA KNOB, THERE'S ALSO GNOMES AND GOBLINS LIVIN HERE! AND KOBOLDS! AND... SHITE, WHAT ELSE WE GOT HERE SPRIG?!"
"FUCK KNOWS BOSS!"
"WHATEVER, ME POINT IS IT ENT JUST DWARVES LIVIN HERE YA BALD PASTY SURFACE-DWELLER! NOW WHAT D'YA WANT?!"
"Wha-why how dare you! Do you know who you're speaking to! I am Commander Justinius Belthazar, Third of His Royal and Most Noble Name, Heir to the-"
"YA SOUND LIKE A REAL WANKER, THAT'S WHO I THINK YA ARE!"
Raucous laughter emanated from the cone as Justinius's face went bright red. "Impertinent undersized drunkard filth! I am a commander of the Empire, I demand to be treated with respect!"
"FUCK YE AND THE HIGH HORSE YE RODE IN ON!"
"BOSS, THAT'S A DRAKE!"
"SHUT IT, SPRIG, I DIDN'T ASK FER NO LIP FROM YE!"
"Enough of this nonsense!" Justinius shrieked. "Surrender now, or we will conquer you utterly! We will raze your little cave to the ground and salt its earth, we will sell your kind into slavery and slaughter those that try to resist! You have no hope except to beg for our mighty emperor's mercy! So get on your knees and grovel if you value your lives!"
He gestured to the fields of men. "See them?! All of them are outfitted in the gear that you sold to us! All of it the finest armor and weapons one can hope to find! All of it to be used against you!"
There was silence, for a minute, and in that moment Justinius thought smugly to himself, *That ought to do the trick.*
After that minute, however, more laughter burst forth from the cone. "BAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YA FOOKIN WANKER, THOSE WERE OUR CAST-OFFS! THAT ENT EVEN THE GOOD SHITE YA BLOODY KNOB! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
As Justinius watched, several rather sizable cannons rose forth from the city walls; they sparked to life with humming, crackling, lightning-like energy, and as he watched those cannons tilted down to aim themselves directly at himself and his army. "THESE WERE THE GOOD BITS THAT WE KEPT FER OURSELVES! WE FIGGURED THE LOT O YE WOULD TURN ON US, SO WE MADE THESE FER WHEN YA DID!"
"...and just what are those...?"
"MAGIC CANNONS! EACH 'UN SHOOTS A BOLT WITH MORE EXPLOSIVE POWER THAN TWO KILOS O' TNT! THE LOT O YE ARE FOOKED UNLESS YE FOOK OFF, SO I SUGGEST YE TAKE YER RINKY DINK TOYS AND GO BACK WHERE YA CAME FROM!"
Justinius could feel his soldiers wavering, threatening to break; he snarled and turned to them. "I will personally have every man that turns tail and flees hunted down and executed like the dogs they are!" he screamed. "No man can stand against the might of our glorious Empire!"
"GOOD THING A LOT OF US ARE GNOME MEN, THEN, INNIT??"
"HAHAHA! NICE UN, SPRIG! AND DON'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YE! HAVE FUN IN HELL, THE LOT O YE WANKERS!"
The cone retracted back into the wall, and as Justinius watched, hellfire rained upon his soldiers.
With a deafening series of BOOMs, the cannons opened fire, blasting bolts of pure energy into the army and killing dozens of men in just a single shot, sending men and debris alike flying. The army dissolved into chaos, of course; everyone began trying to flee at once, pushing and shoving and climbing over each other as the cannons shot barrage after barrage and utterly decimated them.
And as one of the cannons turned to a stunned Justinius, as it charged up its shot and fired, only one word left his lips, the last he would ever speak:
"...fuck."
|
The Free City had thought they were safe.
'They're spending everything they have on beeting eachother into the ground,' they thought. 'Our defencese are impenitrable.' It was only too late that anyone realized that a vey important export from that city was foreign weapons.
When the force of Brittanorum was displayed before The Free City, they saw the guns that their soldiers used. They saw their cannons, their boots, their weapons, their army. And they saw them in the hundreds of thousands. They saw an invasion force graeter than their population. They looked to their seas, and saw their ships, in the hudreds, their guns gleaming. They saw everything they had, even theoreticle formations, uniforms, some of the spies reported even seeing a new style of dress amongst the non-military nobility. There was only one thing amongst that entire force that no one could find. Hope. Hope for The Free City. In the early dawn, The City's commisioner recived an ultimatum: 'Surrender, or face your rapture.'
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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Vice-admiral Blau silently watched over the command deck of the Deloria, waiting for the news to come in. Radio operators were diligently relaying messages, officers and engineers talked amongst themselves, and turbulent waters crashed against the flagship, filling the already noisy deck with an irregular din. Every now and then, Blau would hear a report directed at him by a radioman. The corvettes were in position for spotting and course correction. The rear fleet of long-range cruisers had finally arrived. Of course such reports were important, but not the one Blau was waiting for. As he stood there in solemn anticipation of the tolling of the bell, a well-dressed officer approached him.
“Commodore Anath. Is something wrong?” Blau asked.
Anath gave a nervous salute before responding. “Nothing at all sir. Everything is proceeding as expected.”
“At ease. You seem a little nervous, commodore. I thought I assured you that I would not be interfering with the Deloria's operations. It is your ship, after all,” Blau said jokingly.
Anath seemed to miss the humor. “Ah, no sir. It’s not that…”
Blau turned to the observation windows that lined the perimeter of the deck. To his east was a lush, inviting coastline. Large pockets of uninhabited beachhead were scattered along the length of the coast, as far as the eye could see. To his west, was a newly minted flotilla of long-range cruisers, accompanied by a handful of frigates and corvettes. Every ship was dangerous and armed tooth and nail. Fortunately for them, they had not encountered any resistance on their way. From what Blau could surmise, the coastal defense was also practically non-existent. The scout corvettes that had positioned themselves in view of any coastal guns had not picked up anything on open channels.
Blau could understand the commodore’s anxiety. Everything was proceeding as expected. Everything. The lack of naval patrols. The absence of any coastal defenses. The “great” Altan “empire” was still licking its wounds from its last offensive against the Eastern alliance. And yet, they still had the nerve to declare war, and on an ally. High Command had been right so far with its predictions, but something could always go wrong. As fears of hidden danger crept up on the vice-admiral, another radioman called out to him.
“Sir! Report from the Northern theater. The 4th fleet is also in position.”
Anath relaxed a little as he processed the turn of events. The 4th had also made it to their target, and with no resistance. High Command had been right after all.
Blau looked over at the commodore, who was visibly less nervous. He chided Anath in a low voice.
“Don’t let your guard down.”
Anath straightened his posture. “Of course, sir.”
Anath glanced over to the radio operators, and said,
“By the way, sir. I heard from the rear admiral. The fighting has already started in the countryside. It’s just been light skirmishes so far, but with the size of their forces, it’s almost like a full invasion.”
Blau gave him a nod. “It IS a full invasion. The Altans’ expansionist doctrine is not exactly a secret. Well, once we get the word, we’ll end this conceited farce of a conflict.”
The two commanding officers let those words hang in the air. A monstrous amount of death and destruction that was packed into their flotilla of long-range cruisers was being aimed right at the Altan capital city. Soon it would be unleashed, and the price for a century of unfettered brinkmanship would be paid.
And then, the bell tolled. The noisy deck was momentarily hushed when the radio operator uttered the words.
“Sir. Message from High Command.”
The crew became still in anticipation of what came next. Even the rolling sea had quieted a bit.
“The message is, ‘The future is dark.’”
Vice-admiral Blau took a sweeping glance at the crew on the deck, then started barking out orders.
“All stations, prepare for battle! Have the cruisers begin wind calculations, and tighten up the formation…”
The command deck burst alive with a flurry of activity.
—
The field officer was observing his handiwork when he noticed a messenger running towards him. As the messenger got closer he noticed that they were looking very ragged and desperate. Taking this as an omen, he moved to meet the messenger.
“Catch your breath, soldier. What’s the message?” the officer asked.
“Full retreat… join the main force…” the messenger said between gasps of air.
“What? Impossible! Our unit has completely driven back the enemy! We’ve secured this position!” the officer retorted.
“Capital destroyed… army scattered… artillery…”
The field officer couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.
He pressed the messenger for information. “Artillery? We haven’t heard any artillery. From where?”
With a shaky hand, they pointed towards the coast. He took out his binoculars and looked towards the sea. He thought he could make out the outline of ships, but that was impossible. They were a few miles out, at least. And then he saw the flashes of light. First a few, then a multitude. Tiny dots flew upwards from the flashes, then they flew towards land. He grabbed the messenger and shouted, “Run” but he knew it was useless. His company didn’t even know what was happening, though they were going to find out in a few seconds. He ran, pushing his already exhausted body to the absolute limit. As the meteors and firestorms swirled around him, he didn’t even have time to think about how such weapons were being used at a distance, or how the explosions were like nothing he had ever seen before. He ran, and ran, until his body finally gave up, and was consumed by the fires of war.
|
The Free City had thought they were safe.
'They're spending everything they have on beeting eachother into the ground,' they thought. 'Our defencese are impenitrable.' It was only too late that anyone realized that a vey important export from that city was foreign weapons.
When the force of Brittanorum was displayed before The Free City, they saw the guns that their soldiers used. They saw their cannons, their boots, their weapons, their army. And they saw them in the hundreds of thousands. They saw an invasion force graeter than their population. They looked to their seas, and saw their ships, in the hudreds, their guns gleaming. They saw everything they had, even theoreticle formations, uniforms, some of the spies reported even seeing a new style of dress amongst the non-military nobility. There was only one thing amongst that entire force that no one could find. Hope. Hope for The Free City. In the early dawn, The City's commisioner recived an ultimatum: 'Surrender, or face your rapture.'
|
|
[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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“Gentlemen, I called you all here with the intent of discussing a matter of utmost urgency and importance.”
The generals, admirals, economic ministers and military advisors of the Adleric Empire sat in silence, dwarfed by the statues of warriors long past that cast their looming, weighty shadows across the length of the Adlerland-Kriegshalle. In the thin light, the Chancellor speaking seemed very, very, small.
“I fear that our… tryst with the state that calls itself the Thalassocracy was a grave mistake.”
No one answered. No one had to. The silence, and implied agreement, was unanimous.
“But that is not why I have called you all here. What I would like to discuss is how we may be able to mitigate the consequences of this blunder.”
Mitigate. Not avoid. Not triumph. Mitigation--the action of reducing severity, as best as one could. Damage control--the last line of defence in the many layers of protection built up by Adlerland over the past two thousand years of war.
“We cannot win, gentlemen. We can only hope to lose as gracefully as we can.”
It was chilling. For as long as anyone could remember, Adlerland had been locked in deadly combat with its giant neighbour, the Sabal Protectorate. The Thalassocracy was a convenient, sometimes helpful companion that provided ships, weapons, missiles, you name it, they had it--to anyone with the money. No--not companion. Adlerland had viewed them like a season, or month, or time of day--omnipresent but meaningless. Compared with the hulking, heavily shielded dreadnoughts of Sabal, their tiny fleet posed little threat.
Thus, after wiping out their nemesis, it seemed straightforward to go ahead and annex the tiny state as well. It had started when the Chancellor and the leader of the Thalassocracy, an enigmatic man only known as the Provost, had met during a joint weapons exercise, the first time Adlerland dignitaries witnessed the Thalassocracy’s strength. The exercise was meant to be a farce, really, more to use a show of strength to frighten the Thalassocracy into submission than to achieve any real meaningful military cooperation.
*“We call these railguns,” The Chancellor announced. “They fire packets of charged particles, capable of disrupting shields and sometimes bypassing them completely.”*
*From the observation barge, both the Chancellor and the Provost watched the aforementioned weapons extend from the hull of the Nulli Secunda, the flagship of Adlerland’s fleet. Representing the cutting edge of the Empire’s technology, it had been this very weapon that had laid waste to Sabal’s defenses in the last stages of the war. The Chancellor smiled as the broadside of the Nulli Secunda erupted in writhing arcs of electricity as the guns fired on the target, a captured Sabal dreadnought, spitting bolts of glowing light that impacted on its shield, which flickered momentarily, then gave way, allowing the bolts to smash into its armour, vaporising metal in moments.*
*“Now that we have witnessed each other’s strength, we would like to request your cooperation in future matters.” The implied message was clear.*
*The Chancellor had not expected the Provost’s reply in a million years. “Those? We already had them a couple hundred years ago. But yours are very nice.”*
The Chancellor thought the Provost was lying, trying to buy time for a doomed people. The war began two months later, and the Thalassocracy’s retaliation.
No. Not retaliation. A massacre, driven by the cold rage of retribution.
Entire fleets were wiped out by weapons that they couldn’t even see. Microwave lasers ripped shields apart and cooked crews inside their ships. The Nulli Secunda was destroyed by a single torpedo, the guided weapon dodging and weaving around its point-defense fire and completely bypassing its enhanced shielding, not once broken during its eight-hundred-year tour of duty. It burrowed deep into the ship’s very core and then detonated in a flash of light. There was nothing left, not even any wreckage. Just a swirling ball of molten dust. It was never found out exactly what had fired the devastating shot.
And then came the slaughter. Bombs containing millions of tiny machines exploded over planets, blocking out the sun and jamming communications. Within weeks, the afflicted planet would be plunged into an ice age, killing every human that resided on its surface slowly and painfully. Shells that burst open to release clouds of viruses that rampaged over worlds, heedless of cure or treatment. Each one was different. Some targeted the lungs, others the liver. Still others caused madness, or melted one’s skin off. The only similarities were their lack of mercy, killing regardless of age, race or creed. Worse, still, were the missiles that contained within them a tiny embryo, which would, on impact, grow into grotesque monstrosities dozens of metres high, sloughing radioactive blood and steaming flesh and programmed with a murderous urge. Even at the height of its power, Adlerland had not slaughtered in such great numbers, or with such callous cruelty. Civilians died by the score, choking on their own blood as plagues devoured them. Children, crushed by hot, radioactive rubble into red paste. Babies born with nothing but bone where their brain and eyes should have been, their tiny bodies twitching lifelessly in a mockery of life.
The Empire lost everything in a matter of weeks.
“Mitigate? How?”
“What can we do?”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“How can you say there is hope? We have tickled the dragon’s tail, and now it has come to destroy us!”
“Quiet! Quiet!”
“Gentlemen, I must beseech you to have order. The Thalassocracy is powerful, but I do not think they can reach us here, in our capital, yet. We must use what remaining time we have left to engineer a solution.”
For the next hour, the men in the Kriegshalle spoke in softer, hushed tones. Then, unbeknownst to them, high above their heads, eighteen missiles powered off their Alcubierre drives and dropped into sublight orbit above the capital planet of Adlerland, population fifteen billion. Each one housing within itself more explosive energy than a star and cloaked from detection by technology so advanced it was practically witchcraft, they turned as one, and then, like spears of God, began to plunge towards the ground.
|
Emergency Council Meeting for the city-state of Ado-Ekiti.
"I'm not sure what the king of Ondo thought would happen here" said Adesina the head of the council.
"Their petty war was raging for over 25 years all around us, did they really think we would simply sit and wait to get taken over?" said Folarin, Vice-Chair of the council, her left.
There was a cacophony of agreement around the table.
"Still it wouldn't hurt to see what they are offering in terms of partnership" said a voice at the end of the table.
"They do not want partnership! They want to rule us Adebayo! US! The ones who took in their refugees as they almost blew themselves off of the planet! The ones that had to ramp up all of our agricultural and water reclamation technologies to be able to feed everyone! The ones that had to ensure that the ones that were here before this bloody war started, and the ones that came after felt safe with war raging all around them! What do you honestly think they could have to offer us that we cannot get for ourselves, esteemed elder? All I know from those fools is endless, unnecessary war!" said Tayo, the newly appointed defense coordinator and at 30 years old, the youngest person at the table.
"Exactly my point, dear boy.." Started Adebayo
"Don't... call... me... boy." Said Tayo with barley concealed hatred in his voice
"I apologize... General," said Adebayo with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes "All I am saying is that we have very little to lose by entertaining their delegation and seeing what terms they are willing to offer. We may even be pleasantly surprised at their generosity"
"Elder," interjected Adesina before Tayo could start "you almost sound as though you know what they are going to say. If you have something to share with the council please don't keep us in the dark, there is a reason that you are the head of intelligence, your insights have proven useful and accurate time and again."
"Unfortunately all I have now are rumors and conjecture" said Adebayo "but my networks across the kingdom say that our dealings with our neighbors to the south, and now the north as well, should be amenable in our favor. After all neither side could have won without us."
"And I was against that strategy from the start!" jumped in Tayo "I said we should have chosen a side or been neutral"
"We were neutral" Said Folake, economic advisor "we sold whatever was needed to whoever would pay for it. I don't see how you can get any more neutral than that"
"Everyone stop!" Said Folarin trying to bring order back to the meeting before it got completely out of hand. "We need to decide how to handle the delegation from Ondo, not argue about how we should have handled the war again."
"You are right, Fola" Said Adesina, hoping no one would notice her lack of formality "We need to get back to the task at hand. It is time to bring this to a vote. I formally present to the Council the question of if we should entertain the delegation from Ondo."
&#x200B;
The Aye's had it 4-1, the door opened, the delegation was led into the chamber and then the fate of Ekiti changed forever.
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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Commander Justinius Belthazar, Third of His Royal and Most Noble Name, Heir to the Belthazar House and Commander Most High of the Imperial Military, was beginning to develop a migraine.
He'd been trudging through the mountains and valleys for weeks now, wrangling troops and pack beasts alike into some semblance of order and dignity as they marched to their destination; the dwarve's merchant city-state of Thulkalduhr, or however the Nine Hells those blasted runty alcoholics pronounced it. It had sat on the sidelines between a great war that had for generations ravaged the continent, elves and humans both clashing over some old territorial dispute that frankly everyone had forgotten about. But with the elves thoroughly trounced by the glorious, truly might emperor and his legions of perfect soldiers, the eye of the empire turned to a new target... the dwarves, and the vast amounts of gold they most certainly owned.
He knew that this would be a grand victory for the empire. A show of force that would fill their coffers to overflowing, allowing them unparalleled rule over the continent and unprecedented comfort and security for their citizens. He knew this, but his patience for this damnable march was being sorely tested as he listened to the sounds of animals braying, men talking and arguing, and-
"Sir! Sir!"
"Oh for the emperor's sake, what is it now?!"
The courier skidded to a halt just before the commander's drake, panting heavily as he regained his breath. "We... *huff*... we're nearing... *puff*..."
"Nearing *what* you incompetent dunce? Yet another mountain pass? Another roadblock? What? What is it this time??"
"N-no, sir, we're... we're nearing Thulkalduhr! We're about a day's march away!"
The commander sighed in clear relief. "Oh thank His holy name... be back on your way boy."
"Yessir!"
"One more day," Justinius muttered to himself. "One more day and this will all be over..."
\-------------------
At long last, after what felt like an age of marching, after miles upon miles trudging through mountain and through valley, through weather fair and foul, they had reached the gates of Thulkalduhr. It was silent, with no other travelers on the road besides the army itself, and the gates were sealed shut-a rare occurrence indeed.
The commander smirked as he strode forward between rows upon rows of perfectly aligned soldiers, all bearing the weapons that these dwarves had made and all clad in the shining mithral armor created deep within Thulkalduhr. Fitting, he supposed, that their downfall would be by the same weapons they created...
As he made his way to the gate, he prepared the speech he had made; however, as he watched, a large panel opened up in the wall and a large, cone-like device popped out.
"OI! STATE YER NAME AND BUSINESS!" the cone bellowed; seemed a dwarf was shouting from the other end of it. Justinius winced, but weathered forward.
"Dwarves of Thulkalduhr-"
"WE ENT JUST DWARVES YA KNOB, THERE'S ALSO GNOMES AND GOBLINS LIVIN HERE! AND KOBOLDS! AND... SHITE, WHAT ELSE WE GOT HERE SPRIG?!"
"FUCK KNOWS BOSS!"
"WHATEVER, ME POINT IS IT ENT JUST DWARVES LIVIN HERE YA BALD PASTY SURFACE-DWELLER! NOW WHAT D'YA WANT?!"
"Wha-why how dare you! Do you know who you're speaking to! I am Commander Justinius Belthazar, Third of His Royal and Most Noble Name, Heir to the-"
"YA SOUND LIKE A REAL WANKER, THAT'S WHO I THINK YA ARE!"
Raucous laughter emanated from the cone as Justinius's face went bright red. "Impertinent undersized drunkard filth! I am a commander of the Empire, I demand to be treated with respect!"
"FUCK YE AND THE HIGH HORSE YE RODE IN ON!"
"BOSS, THAT'S A DRAKE!"
"SHUT IT, SPRIG, I DIDN'T ASK FER NO LIP FROM YE!"
"Enough of this nonsense!" Justinius shrieked. "Surrender now, or we will conquer you utterly! We will raze your little cave to the ground and salt its earth, we will sell your kind into slavery and slaughter those that try to resist! You have no hope except to beg for our mighty emperor's mercy! So get on your knees and grovel if you value your lives!"
He gestured to the fields of men. "See them?! All of them are outfitted in the gear that you sold to us! All of it the finest armor and weapons one can hope to find! All of it to be used against you!"
There was silence, for a minute, and in that moment Justinius thought smugly to himself, *That ought to do the trick.*
After that minute, however, more laughter burst forth from the cone. "BAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YA FOOKIN WANKER, THOSE WERE OUR CAST-OFFS! THAT ENT EVEN THE GOOD SHITE YA BLOODY KNOB! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
As Justinius watched, several rather sizable cannons rose forth from the city walls; they sparked to life with humming, crackling, lightning-like energy, and as he watched those cannons tilted down to aim themselves directly at himself and his army. "THESE WERE THE GOOD BITS THAT WE KEPT FER OURSELVES! WE FIGGURED THE LOT O YE WOULD TURN ON US, SO WE MADE THESE FER WHEN YA DID!"
"...and just what are those...?"
"MAGIC CANNONS! EACH 'UN SHOOTS A BOLT WITH MORE EXPLOSIVE POWER THAN TWO KILOS O' TNT! THE LOT O YE ARE FOOKED UNLESS YE FOOK OFF, SO I SUGGEST YE TAKE YER RINKY DINK TOYS AND GO BACK WHERE YA CAME FROM!"
Justinius could feel his soldiers wavering, threatening to break; he snarled and turned to them. "I will personally have every man that turns tail and flees hunted down and executed like the dogs they are!" he screamed. "No man can stand against the might of our glorious Empire!"
"GOOD THING A LOT OF US ARE GNOME MEN, THEN, INNIT??"
"HAHAHA! NICE UN, SPRIG! AND DON'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YE! HAVE FUN IN HELL, THE LOT O YE WANKERS!"
The cone retracted back into the wall, and as Justinius watched, hellfire rained upon his soldiers.
With a deafening series of BOOMs, the cannons opened fire, blasting bolts of pure energy into the army and killing dozens of men in just a single shot, sending men and debris alike flying. The army dissolved into chaos, of course; everyone began trying to flee at once, pushing and shoving and climbing over each other as the cannons shot barrage after barrage and utterly decimated them.
And as one of the cannons turned to a stunned Justinius, as it charged up its shot and fired, only one word left his lips, the last he would ever speak:
"...fuck."
|
Emergency Council Meeting for the city-state of Ado-Ekiti.
"I'm not sure what the king of Ondo thought would happen here" said Adesina the head of the council.
"Their petty war was raging for over 25 years all around us, did they really think we would simply sit and wait to get taken over?" said Folarin, Vice-Chair of the council, her left.
There was a cacophony of agreement around the table.
"Still it wouldn't hurt to see what they are offering in terms of partnership" said a voice at the end of the table.
"They do not want partnership! They want to rule us Adebayo! US! The ones who took in their refugees as they almost blew themselves off of the planet! The ones that had to ramp up all of our agricultural and water reclamation technologies to be able to feed everyone! The ones that had to ensure that the ones that were here before this bloody war started, and the ones that came after felt safe with war raging all around them! What do you honestly think they could have to offer us that we cannot get for ourselves, esteemed elder? All I know from those fools is endless, unnecessary war!" said Tayo, the newly appointed defense coordinator and at 30 years old, the youngest person at the table.
"Exactly my point, dear boy.." Started Adebayo
"Don't... call... me... boy." Said Tayo with barley concealed hatred in his voice
"I apologize... General," said Adebayo with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes "All I am saying is that we have very little to lose by entertaining their delegation and seeing what terms they are willing to offer. We may even be pleasantly surprised at their generosity"
"Elder," interjected Adesina before Tayo could start "you almost sound as though you know what they are going to say. If you have something to share with the council please don't keep us in the dark, there is a reason that you are the head of intelligence, your insights have proven useful and accurate time and again."
"Unfortunately all I have now are rumors and conjecture" said Adebayo "but my networks across the kingdom say that our dealings with our neighbors to the south, and now the north as well, should be amenable in our favor. After all neither side could have won without us."
"And I was against that strategy from the start!" jumped in Tayo "I said we should have chosen a side or been neutral"
"We were neutral" Said Folake, economic advisor "we sold whatever was needed to whoever would pay for it. I don't see how you can get any more neutral than that"
"Everyone stop!" Said Folarin trying to bring order back to the meeting before it got completely out of hand. "We need to decide how to handle the delegation from Ondo, not argue about how we should have handled the war again."
"You are right, Fola" Said Adesina, hoping no one would notice her lack of formality "We need to get back to the task at hand. It is time to bring this to a vote. I formally present to the Council the question of if we should entertain the delegation from Ondo."
&#x200B;
The Aye's had it 4-1, the door opened, the delegation was led into the chamber and then the fate of Ekiti changed forever.
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|
[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
|
Vice-admiral Blau silently watched over the command deck of the Deloria, waiting for the news to come in. Radio operators were diligently relaying messages, officers and engineers talked amongst themselves, and turbulent waters crashed against the flagship, filling the already noisy deck with an irregular din. Every now and then, Blau would hear a report directed at him by a radioman. The corvettes were in position for spotting and course correction. The rear fleet of long-range cruisers had finally arrived. Of course such reports were important, but not the one Blau was waiting for. As he stood there in solemn anticipation of the tolling of the bell, a well-dressed officer approached him.
“Commodore Anath. Is something wrong?” Blau asked.
Anath gave a nervous salute before responding. “Nothing at all sir. Everything is proceeding as expected.”
“At ease. You seem a little nervous, commodore. I thought I assured you that I would not be interfering with the Deloria's operations. It is your ship, after all,” Blau said jokingly.
Anath seemed to miss the humor. “Ah, no sir. It’s not that…”
Blau turned to the observation windows that lined the perimeter of the deck. To his east was a lush, inviting coastline. Large pockets of uninhabited beachhead were scattered along the length of the coast, as far as the eye could see. To his west, was a newly minted flotilla of long-range cruisers, accompanied by a handful of frigates and corvettes. Every ship was dangerous and armed tooth and nail. Fortunately for them, they had not encountered any resistance on their way. From what Blau could surmise, the coastal defense was also practically non-existent. The scout corvettes that had positioned themselves in view of any coastal guns had not picked up anything on open channels.
Blau could understand the commodore’s anxiety. Everything was proceeding as expected. Everything. The lack of naval patrols. The absence of any coastal defenses. The “great” Altan “empire” was still licking its wounds from its last offensive against the Eastern alliance. And yet, they still had the nerve to declare war, and on an ally. High Command had been right so far with its predictions, but something could always go wrong. As fears of hidden danger crept up on the vice-admiral, another radioman called out to him.
“Sir! Report from the Northern theater. The 4th fleet is also in position.”
Anath relaxed a little as he processed the turn of events. The 4th had also made it to their target, and with no resistance. High Command had been right after all.
Blau looked over at the commodore, who was visibly less nervous. He chided Anath in a low voice.
“Don’t let your guard down.”
Anath straightened his posture. “Of course, sir.”
Anath glanced over to the radio operators, and said,
“By the way, sir. I heard from the rear admiral. The fighting has already started in the countryside. It’s just been light skirmishes so far, but with the size of their forces, it’s almost like a full invasion.”
Blau gave him a nod. “It IS a full invasion. The Altans’ expansionist doctrine is not exactly a secret. Well, once we get the word, we’ll end this conceited farce of a conflict.”
The two commanding officers let those words hang in the air. A monstrous amount of death and destruction that was packed into their flotilla of long-range cruisers was being aimed right at the Altan capital city. Soon it would be unleashed, and the price for a century of unfettered brinkmanship would be paid.
And then, the bell tolled. The noisy deck was momentarily hushed when the radio operator uttered the words.
“Sir. Message from High Command.”
The crew became still in anticipation of what came next. Even the rolling sea had quieted a bit.
“The message is, ‘The future is dark.’”
Vice-admiral Blau took a sweeping glance at the crew on the deck, then started barking out orders.
“All stations, prepare for battle! Have the cruisers begin wind calculations, and tighten up the formation…”
The command deck burst alive with a flurry of activity.
—
The field officer was observing his handiwork when he noticed a messenger running towards him. As the messenger got closer he noticed that they were looking very ragged and desperate. Taking this as an omen, he moved to meet the messenger.
“Catch your breath, soldier. What’s the message?” the officer asked.
“Full retreat… join the main force…” the messenger said between gasps of air.
“What? Impossible! Our unit has completely driven back the enemy! We’ve secured this position!” the officer retorted.
“Capital destroyed… army scattered… artillery…”
The field officer couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.
He pressed the messenger for information. “Artillery? We haven’t heard any artillery. From where?”
With a shaky hand, they pointed towards the coast. He took out his binoculars and looked towards the sea. He thought he could make out the outline of ships, but that was impossible. They were a few miles out, at least. And then he saw the flashes of light. First a few, then a multitude. Tiny dots flew upwards from the flashes, then they flew towards land. He grabbed the messenger and shouted, “Run” but he knew it was useless. His company didn’t even know what was happening, though they were going to find out in a few seconds. He ran, pushing his already exhausted body to the absolute limit. As the meteors and firestorms swirled around him, he didn’t even have time to think about how such weapons were being used at a distance, or how the explosions were like nothing he had ever seen before. He ran, and ran, until his body finally gave up, and was consumed by the fires of war.
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Emergency Council Meeting for the city-state of Ado-Ekiti.
"I'm not sure what the king of Ondo thought would happen here" said Adesina the head of the council.
"Their petty war was raging for over 25 years all around us, did they really think we would simply sit and wait to get taken over?" said Folarin, Vice-Chair of the council, her left.
There was a cacophony of agreement around the table.
"Still it wouldn't hurt to see what they are offering in terms of partnership" said a voice at the end of the table.
"They do not want partnership! They want to rule us Adebayo! US! The ones who took in their refugees as they almost blew themselves off of the planet! The ones that had to ramp up all of our agricultural and water reclamation technologies to be able to feed everyone! The ones that had to ensure that the ones that were here before this bloody war started, and the ones that came after felt safe with war raging all around them! What do you honestly think they could have to offer us that we cannot get for ourselves, esteemed elder? All I know from those fools is endless, unnecessary war!" said Tayo, the newly appointed defense coordinator and at 30 years old, the youngest person at the table.
"Exactly my point, dear boy.." Started Adebayo
"Don't... call... me... boy." Said Tayo with barley concealed hatred in his voice
"I apologize... General," said Adebayo with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes "All I am saying is that we have very little to lose by entertaining their delegation and seeing what terms they are willing to offer. We may even be pleasantly surprised at their generosity"
"Elder," interjected Adesina before Tayo could start "you almost sound as though you know what they are going to say. If you have something to share with the council please don't keep us in the dark, there is a reason that you are the head of intelligence, your insights have proven useful and accurate time and again."
"Unfortunately all I have now are rumors and conjecture" said Adebayo "but my networks across the kingdom say that our dealings with our neighbors to the south, and now the north as well, should be amenable in our favor. After all neither side could have won without us."
"And I was against that strategy from the start!" jumped in Tayo "I said we should have chosen a side or been neutral"
"We were neutral" Said Folake, economic advisor "we sold whatever was needed to whoever would pay for it. I don't see how you can get any more neutral than that"
"Everyone stop!" Said Folarin trying to bring order back to the meeting before it got completely out of hand. "We need to decide how to handle the delegation from Ondo, not argue about how we should have handled the war again."
"You are right, Fola" Said Adesina, hoping no one would notice her lack of formality "We need to get back to the task at hand. It is time to bring this to a vote. I formally present to the Council the question of if we should entertain the delegation from Ondo."
&#x200B;
The Aye's had it 4-1, the door opened, the delegation was led into the chamber and then the fate of Ekiti changed forever.
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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High Commander Jui-ten strode purposefully into the entrance hall, barely acknowledging the brightly garbed porters standing rigidly to either side of the enormous gilded doors. His personal guard had formed an orderly procession behind him, sixteen of his finest in their ceremonial best, breast plates gleaming in the well lit passageway. His own armor was burnished and dented. Fresh scars inflicted from the frontlines only days before were starkly apparent on its surface. There had been no time to trim his hair nor his beard, barely time to for his body servants to scrub the filth of the battlefield from his weary hide. He would not present a facade of normalcy to these jumped up peddlers and their supposed "Trade Council". Not when less than a fortnight ago he had been wiping blood from his blade on the Supreme Chancellor's extravagant robes. Not when the taste of victory was so close to turning sour on his very tongue. The borderlands remained a thorn in his paw, no matter what the fools in the capital may think. Allowing the Merchant City to remain independent when arms and supplies were flowing freely to the enemies of the Empire was pure folly. Convincing the degenerate sycophants in parliament of that simple fact had been difficult. He had played his hand, calling in every favor possible and now that those cards were on the table there could be no turning back.
The council chambers were more than impressive. Seven wooden chairs, thrones really, carved with intricate scrollwork sat raised above the floor on an imposing dais. Tapestries to rival those adorning the walls the Church Of The Twelve Chosen and rugs woven in the Taires style created an impression of royalty which he had never laid eyes upon outside of the Eternal Palace itself. The sheer audacity of the display threatened to dispel his carefully cultivated ocean of calm but calling upon the practice of hundreds of such political meetings he regained composure and approached the floor. As he did a shrill trumpet rang out and a crier appeared to pronounce in a keening musical voice "Presenting, the most honorable Jui-ten Barlotep. Protector of the flame, keeper of the spirit, High Commander to the Imperial Army of Tai-Bashin. Voice of the Empress. Fist of the Undying Empire! " So they abide by customs now, thought the High Commander. The answers to his summons had been anything but formal. Outright denial of his authority. Treason is what it had been.
"Let us dispense with the formalities and get straight to the point if it pleases you" he said. The seven people seated above him in a semi circle could not have been more disparate. From all corners of the realm with varying complexions, adornments and garb, the expressions on their faces ranged from contempt to wry amusement. The woman seated in the center chair regarded him coolly. Tall and imposing her black hair was done up in an elaborate curl crowning her head and giving her the impression of even greater height. She cut a stately figure, her face was plain yet handsome but he found himself mostly attracted to her eyes. They were bright blue and chill as winter winds upon the sea of Karth. The councilor seated to her right stood up rigidly and blustered forth "You have no respect! You are speaking to th - " Her eyes never leaving his own she quieted the fool with a mere gesture "Please Mathil. I agree Commander. This council agrees, let us waste no time. I believe we could not have made it more clear in our correspondence. We abide by the ancient agreements and expect you to do the same. The treaty stands. The merchant city takes no part in outside conflicts and therefore the result of your petty war is of no concern to us. We formally request that you remove your military presence from our lands and leave here in peace. If you do not, if you choose to forsake our bonds of old then we shall have no choice but to retaliate in defense of our city and our interests. You have until sundown. You have been warned."
He was stunned. The absolute audacity! Threats from such as these with an entire battalion of Dragons Teeth stationed outside their walls? With the finest siege engines the empire could field primed and ready to turn their speck of a city to rubble? A comparatively small contingent of course, but more than enough to ensure obedience from this pack of coin counters and quill pushers. Or so he had thought. Barely containing his temper the commander spread his hands wide. "You would deem to issue ultimatums to the first of the Empress herself? Have you lost your wits? I am done with your snake tongued words. I will grant you two hours to open your gates and sign the oaths declaring yourselves as subjects to the Holy Empire or we shall lay waste to this city. We shall unleash devastation upon you such as the foulest demons of hell would be shamed to witness. Then, we shall raise a new merchant council here. One that understands where their loyalties should lie." He turned on his heel and began to walk out of the room but her voice rang out clear and confident, halting him in his tracks. "Commander. If you would join me on the balcony please. I believe you will find this of great interest." What foul tricks could these merchants possibly hope to play now? It hardly mattered. "I have no time to take in the view, you must understand." he said." Gliding over to him, her emerald dress reaching the floor and giving her the impression that she floated instead of merely walking, the Trade Councilor handed him a sliver and gold engraved spy glass. "I direct you to look towards the harbor." Turning the lens southward he could make out large shapes on the horizon. Ships. Larger than any he knew of, their sails full and billowing making for the city at speed. Flying strange banners the likes of which he had never seen. "Friends of yours my lady? It appears we may be outnumbered here for the time being. You can't possible think that any force you could muster will stand up to the Imperial Army? You did not reach your station by indulging in such foolishness." he said. The councilwoman replied "Coin can buy many arms to swing swords Commander. That is not all it can buy. Our friends across the sea bring wonders you cannot imagine. Wonders we have bankrolled the perfection of for some time. Please, direct your attention to your people."
As he did so his heart began to race. What was this woman playing at? Frantically scanning his infantry lines he could find nothing out of the ordinary. "What am I looking at my lady. I won't stand for this insult -" She cut him off with a single word. "Release". At her signal a long streaming green banner was unfurled from the side of the balcony wall. With a resounding boom fire and chaos engulfed his men. From this vantage point he could clearly make out his siege engines blown to pieces. The Dragons Teeth acted as veterans of many battles should. They were attempting to form up, to retaliate against unseen enemies but the barrage was unending. Balls of fire sprouted up from the ground, again and again, tearing his well ordered lines to pieces before his very eyes. "To me! to me!" he shouted, turning towards his guards. Before his men could even draw steel the twang of crossbows rang out and heavy bolts sprouted from their torsos, punching through armor like wet parchment. Stepping out from behind the dais and from the shadows of the balconies, fearsome looking soldiers in unfamiliar livery were already reloading a second volley. The men still on their feet were quickly dispatched leaving him alone amongst these new enemies. "Sorcery! May the flame of the light scourge you from the earth, devils! This shall not stand!" He sputtered, turning back to the councilwoman. She was wearing a sad smile, shaking her head ruefully.
"Not sorcery commander. Technology. Our new allies are able to traverse the sky's you see. From great heights they drop these fire makers of theirs to devastating effect. Those they are dropping on your men are quite small actually, in comparison to the ones that should be softening up the capital as we speak. They use a very clever method involving vapors which rise higher than the air surrounding them. I don't truly understand it myself, I suppose it would seem like magic to the uneducated. There are vast army's aboard ships falling upon every port of consequence as we speak, accompanied by barrages of fire. The time of your Empires heretical tyranny is at an end. Our new business partners are astounded by the fertile lands that your supposed empress squanders and tramples with her ignorance. This is the dawn of a new age commander, and you will be lucky enough to live to see it. Take him away."
Before he could respond his hands were shackled and a gag was forced between his teeth. The greatest commander the Empire had ever seen was led to a dark cell and locked inside. In his mind all he could see were those eyes. Cold and calculating to be sure, but filled with a light that spoke of great hope for the future.
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*The thousand year war had crumbled to ashes. The great nations, Erbex and Hastan had both fallen in their turmoil. And neither had been prepared for what had truly resulted in their demise. There had been rumours, of course, but all were different. Some spoke of a man, cloaked in a dark robe. Others said that it had been the embodiment of death.*
*The truth was far from these rumours. A child, born into the only city barely able to stay neutral with both nations. This city was called Elrond, and it had many skilled and talented minds holding the city from falling apart. Every year, a thousand of the city's citizens were sent to aid either nation and killed in the war. Negotiations and trades helped keep the city "neutral" and it was spared the damages of battle.*
"What do you mean 'now hand over the throne'!?" King Leonas spat at the peasant before him.
"Exactly what I said, Sire" said Will, wearing a smirk. Will could barely conceal his glee, he had waited years for this. "A peasant like yourself breaks into the holy Erbex castle and then asks for the throne to be handed over?" Leonas let loose a small laugh. "Oh, much on the contrary my King, I did not break into this castle" Will eyed the two royal guards, standing beside the king. They looked at him, trying to figure who he was.
Will had dressed in, possibly, the worst outfit to greet a king. Brown peasants' overalls and pants, dirtied with dust. His boots where caked with mud and by just entering the castle, he'd permanently stained the velvet carpets. Will was well aware that his very presence could be considered blasphemous.
"Guards! Arrest him!" Leonas finally said, "Take him down to the dungeons" The king gave an evil grin at those words. But Will stood blankly waiting in anticipation. He eyed the guards and saw them hesitate before moving towards him. As the guards came closer to him, Will slipped on a ring. They immediately stood still, unsure.
The ring he wore was nothing special but that was what had made it special. A simple bronze ring, lacking any carvings or engravings. The type the peasants would buy after months of saving to propose to their significant other. The guards had recognised that. They knew that Will wasn't a simple peasant; no simple peasant could've entered the castle unscathed. The defense weapons (half of which Will was already well-accustomed to seeing) were far beyond deadly.
"Gaurds! Grab him!" Leonas repeated. The gaurds shook slightly. The looked at each other before looking back at Will. "Are.. you.. him?" asked one of them nervously. "Indeed I am" said Will. Will had already become a part off several prophecies. A man to stop the war. But in truth, Will knew that there was no one man who could stop the war. Will was the embodiement off what the people wanted: a peaceful leader.
The years of war had long since driven the people mad. But religon was a hard thing to snuff out completely. The Nixen following believed that one day the war would end and a man would rise from the ashes to lead the world to glory. Will hadn't risen from any ashes, he'd created them.
The king eyed Will suspiciously. "Just what have you done?" he asked as Will began to take long strides toward him. Will smiled. "It's quite simple really" Will began, sliding his hand into his pocket, "I just did what no one else could" Will grabbed his dagger and held it out in the open, almost admiring it.
"I ended this bloody war"
*"Kace, we haven't seen Dad in two years!" yelled Will, tugging at his older brothers hand. "I can't live until I'm sure he's dead" Kace said, tears clouding his eyes, "I have to do this" "No you don't!" yelled Will, gripping his brother's hand tighter, "You can't!" "This is all I've got left for me, Will" said Kace, his voice rising, "First our mother, then our sister and finally dad. It all ends with me" "It doesn't" yelled Will, "It can't" Will's voice grew smaller and his grip on his brother loosened. "Kace, I–" Will began but his brother yanked his hand back from Will and left the room, slamming the door behind him.*
*"Kace, I don't want you to leave to" Will said in a voice that was barely a whisper.*
*Kace never returned.*
"Ended the war?" Leonas scoffed even in the face of death, "Even if I die, then Averas will just attack this nation and take rule once more" Averace, the Hastan lord had once ruled the land and taken all the people in Erbex as his slaves. Will knew the story but he also knew that Averas was a fool. The generations gone by, very few people even knew why the war was being fought. Averas himself was an over-ambitious coward who only wanted to make himself look good.
"That won't be a problem any more" Will said, pouring a small vial of clear liquid onto his dagger, "Averas was a major problem and now he's been dealt with" "By who? You!?" Leonas almost laughed.
Will raised the dagger, poison dripping off its edge. His face had turned from its usual light-hearted gaze to a more stern look. He looked at the king angrily and suddenly Leonas's eyes revealed his fear. Will steadied his breath then finally said,
"Beg for mercy from the lord for I shall give you none"
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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High Commander Jui-ten strode purposefully into the entrance hall, barely acknowledging the brightly garbed porters standing rigidly to either side of the enormous gilded doors. His personal guard had formed an orderly procession behind him, sixteen of his finest in their ceremonial best, breast plates gleaming in the well lit passageway. His own armor was burnished and dented. Fresh scars inflicted from the frontlines only days before were starkly apparent on its surface. There had been no time to trim his hair nor his beard, barely time to for his body servants to scrub the filth of the battlefield from his weary hide. He would not present a facade of normalcy to these jumped up peddlers and their supposed "Trade Council". Not when less than a fortnight ago he had been wiping blood from his blade on the Supreme Chancellor's extravagant robes. Not when the taste of victory was so close to turning sour on his very tongue. The borderlands remained a thorn in his paw, no matter what the fools in the capital may think. Allowing the Merchant City to remain independent when arms and supplies were flowing freely to the enemies of the Empire was pure folly. Convincing the degenerate sycophants in parliament of that simple fact had been difficult. He had played his hand, calling in every favor possible and now that those cards were on the table there could be no turning back.
The council chambers were more than impressive. Seven wooden chairs, thrones really, carved with intricate scrollwork sat raised above the floor on an imposing dais. Tapestries to rival those adorning the walls the Church Of The Twelve Chosen and rugs woven in the Taires style created an impression of royalty which he had never laid eyes upon outside of the Eternal Palace itself. The sheer audacity of the display threatened to dispel his carefully cultivated ocean of calm but calling upon the practice of hundreds of such political meetings he regained composure and approached the floor. As he did a shrill trumpet rang out and a crier appeared to pronounce in a keening musical voice "Presenting, the most honorable Jui-ten Barlotep. Protector of the flame, keeper of the spirit, High Commander to the Imperial Army of Tai-Bashin. Voice of the Empress. Fist of the Undying Empire! " So they abide by customs now, thought the High Commander. The answers to his summons had been anything but formal. Outright denial of his authority. Treason is what it had been.
"Let us dispense with the formalities and get straight to the point if it pleases you" he said. The seven people seated above him in a semi circle could not have been more disparate. From all corners of the realm with varying complexions, adornments and garb, the expressions on their faces ranged from contempt to wry amusement. The woman seated in the center chair regarded him coolly. Tall and imposing her black hair was done up in an elaborate curl crowning her head and giving her the impression of even greater height. She cut a stately figure, her face was plain yet handsome but he found himself mostly attracted to her eyes. They were bright blue and chill as winter winds upon the sea of Karth. The councilor seated to her right stood up rigidly and blustered forth "You have no respect! You are speaking to th - " Her eyes never leaving his own she quieted the fool with a mere gesture "Please Mathil. I agree Commander. This council agrees, let us waste no time. I believe we could not have made it more clear in our correspondence. We abide by the ancient agreements and expect you to do the same. The treaty stands. The merchant city takes no part in outside conflicts and therefore the result of your petty war is of no concern to us. We formally request that you remove your military presence from our lands and leave here in peace. If you do not, if you choose to forsake our bonds of old then we shall have no choice but to retaliate in defense of our city and our interests. You have until sundown. You have been warned."
He was stunned. The absolute audacity! Threats from such as these with an entire battalion of Dragons Teeth stationed outside their walls? With the finest siege engines the empire could field primed and ready to turn their speck of a city to rubble? A comparatively small contingent of course, but more than enough to ensure obedience from this pack of coin counters and quill pushers. Or so he had thought. Barely containing his temper the commander spread his hands wide. "You would deem to issue ultimatums to the first of the Empress herself? Have you lost your wits? I am done with your snake tongued words. I will grant you two hours to open your gates and sign the oaths declaring yourselves as subjects to the Holy Empire or we shall lay waste to this city. We shall unleash devastation upon you such as the foulest demons of hell would be shamed to witness. Then, we shall raise a new merchant council here. One that understands where their loyalties should lie." He turned on his heel and began to walk out of the room but her voice rang out clear and confident, halting him in his tracks. "Commander. If you would join me on the balcony please. I believe you will find this of great interest." What foul tricks could these merchants possibly hope to play now? It hardly mattered. "I have no time to take in the view, you must understand." he said." Gliding over to him, her emerald dress reaching the floor and giving her the impression that she floated instead of merely walking, the Trade Councilor handed him a sliver and gold engraved spy glass. "I direct you to look towards the harbor." Turning the lens southward he could make out large shapes on the horizon. Ships. Larger than any he knew of, their sails full and billowing making for the city at speed. Flying strange banners the likes of which he had never seen. "Friends of yours my lady? It appears we may be outnumbered here for the time being. You can't possible think that any force you could muster will stand up to the Imperial Army? You did not reach your station by indulging in such foolishness." he said. The councilwoman replied "Coin can buy many arms to swing swords Commander. That is not all it can buy. Our friends across the sea bring wonders you cannot imagine. Wonders we have bankrolled the perfection of for some time. Please, direct your attention to your people."
As he did so his heart began to race. What was this woman playing at? Frantically scanning his infantry lines he could find nothing out of the ordinary. "What am I looking at my lady. I won't stand for this insult -" She cut him off with a single word. "Release". At her signal a long streaming green banner was unfurled from the side of the balcony wall. With a resounding boom fire and chaos engulfed his men. From this vantage point he could clearly make out his siege engines blown to pieces. The Dragons Teeth acted as veterans of many battles should. They were attempting to form up, to retaliate against unseen enemies but the barrage was unending. Balls of fire sprouted up from the ground, again and again, tearing his well ordered lines to pieces before his very eyes. "To me! to me!" he shouted, turning towards his guards. Before his men could even draw steel the twang of crossbows rang out and heavy bolts sprouted from their torsos, punching through armor like wet parchment. Stepping out from behind the dais and from the shadows of the balconies, fearsome looking soldiers in unfamiliar livery were already reloading a second volley. The men still on their feet were quickly dispatched leaving him alone amongst these new enemies. "Sorcery! May the flame of the light scourge you from the earth, devils! This shall not stand!" He sputtered, turning back to the councilwoman. She was wearing a sad smile, shaking her head ruefully.
"Not sorcery commander. Technology. Our new allies are able to traverse the sky's you see. From great heights they drop these fire makers of theirs to devastating effect. Those they are dropping on your men are quite small actually, in comparison to the ones that should be softening up the capital as we speak. They use a very clever method involving vapors which rise higher than the air surrounding them. I don't truly understand it myself, I suppose it would seem like magic to the uneducated. There are vast army's aboard ships falling upon every port of consequence as we speak, accompanied by barrages of fire. The time of your Empires heretical tyranny is at an end. Our new business partners are astounded by the fertile lands that your supposed empress squanders and tramples with her ignorance. This is the dawn of a new age commander, and you will be lucky enough to live to see it. Take him away."
Before he could respond his hands were shackled and a gag was forced between his teeth. The greatest commander the Empire had ever seen was led to a dark cell and locked inside. In his mind all he could see were those eyes. Cold and calculating to be sure, but filled with a light that spoke of great hope for the future.
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Mahatma Gandi, fresh off the heels of his bloody victory over Montezuma and the former Aztec Empire, stood ready to make war against their little cousin on the bay: the city of Paris, capital and sole province of the minor state of France.
Gandi's forces flowed across the land in a wave of steel, gleaming in the dawn's light as they swarmed to surround Paris. The gates of the city of traders and scientists opened, and the leader of the city Catherine de Medici strode forth boldly to meet Mahatma Gandi at the front of his phalanx.
"Mahatma. An honor it is, to receive your personage on this beautiful morning. Shame you didn't give me more notice, I'm afraid the chefs don't have any pastries ready yet. I assume you are here to discuss our trade agreements?"
Mahatma Gandi spat on Catherine's shoes in disgust. "What need does Glorious India have, at this height of our supremacy, to 'discuss' anything? We have come to take what is ours by divine right.' Gandi scoffed derisively as he eyed Catherine's richly tailored robes. "Besides, we always found your prices unfavorable, anyway."
"Shame. Shame..." Catherine shook her head sadly. "We had hoped this day would not come, had hoped you would see reason and shy away from your bloody path. From the 'heights of supremacy', it would seem comes a very long fall."
Gandi laughed in Catherine's face, spittle spraying across her visage, his eyes crazed and red-streaked as he flung his hand across the armored infantry, lines of cavalry, and siege catapults standing at his back. "Fall? My dear Catherine, I can only go UP from here. To ever greater heights of glory! And all it will cost... is *your* world." Mahatma Gandi's malevolent grin stretched wide enough to split his face. Eyes unblinking, jaw quivering in excitement.
Catherine de Medici sighed once more, and turned her back on Mahatma Gandi and his forces with an idle wave of her hand. "So be it. We are sad that it came to this, old friend. May your next life be a gentler, kinder one." Catherine de Medici glided through the front gate of Paris, and removed a small item from an inner pocket of her robe. "Oppenheimer, this is Catherine. Acquire target, commence launch at your pleasure."
As the gate closed behind his former trade partner, Mahatma Gandi saw a great beast rise up from the depths of her city. It looked like a great eagle, but it roared like a dragon. It flew over his army, and seemed to lay an egg. The egg fell to the earth, a whistling scream piercing the air. When it impacted on the ground, Hell itself was unleashed upon the armies of India.
His soldiers burned instantly to ash, their armor melted and dissipated into vapor in the space of moments. There was no screams, for they died faster than air could leave their lungs. The land was burned, the air boiled away. The light of the egg's infernal hatching blinded out the sun itself.
Catherine, safe behind her city's shielded walls, shook her head sadly. "One must not neglect their pursuit of the sciences, Mahatma."
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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I’d dangle my legs over the great palaces wall, looking through my telescope at the Drukian Legions waiting outside our city, the gold and firey red emblems of his majesty the “Imperator” of their empire flying from their banners. I’d sigh as I’d drop off the wall. I’d enter the Chamber of the Merchant Lords, my peers, I’d take my seat at the round table, forged with pure silver, as the base, gold to make the pattern, and the largest diamond in the continent to complete the center.
The argument begins from the second I’d sit, there are two factions fighting over our response to the Imperial blockade, one side, the sea traders, say we can fight, the land traders say we must submit, me and my small faction are neutral. So before this council meeting turns into a repeat of the last month, I’d interrupt.
“How about we ride out to negotiation with this emperor, and if it goes bad, we’d fight?”
Both sides of table turn, look at each other, and shrug, everyone is tired of this, so might aswell give direct negotiation a shot instead of diplomats.
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I’d ride out on my brown horse, planted with gold, flying the banner of my home Argentia, as the white horse guard and the emperor ride forward to meet me, this emperor is young, handsome, not too bright, looks to spend his time wrestling and fighting, he‘s a military type, not a good diplomat or administrator.
He’d proudly speak up, “It is customary for subjects to bow to their Emperor”
I’d calmly respond, “We have no Emperor, nor will we ever your highness”
He’d narrow his eyes, “Your city will submit to the Drukian Empire by nightfall, or we will sack the city, take your women, enslave your children.”
I’d chuckle, “Lady Savin, lay out our terms for this emperor please.”
The young man in his polished armor reels back, “Why is your servant approaching me!”
”I am not his servant, I am the Lady of Engineering and Sciences in Argentia, I administer the research and development of our state.”
The Emperor scoffs, “Now wonder you savages are so weak, you have given women responsibility in all levels of society.”
Lady Savin responds, “Our opinions make little difference, we have a simple demand, leave our city and resume free trade, and we will hold no grudges.”
Lady Savin nods to me, and I’d trot a bit forward, “Meet these demands and that’s all, I’d hate to have to do something rash, my spies have gotten a decent bit of dirt on you and you captains.
The bumbling excuse for a ruler fumbles his words, then begins to yell, “HOW DARE BOTH OF YOU SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A WAY, I WILL NOT BACK DOWN, AND HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME, WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK TO ME LIKE THIS!?”
I’d calmly answer his question, “Lord Strixus, Lord of Intelligence and information.”
The tall child begins to fume as he tries to come up with a response, I’d take over
”I believe with have nothing left to discuss, Lady Savin, let us ride back, and also signal the batteries”
Lady Savin nods and smiles as we ride off, I’d smile too, thinking about what’s about to happen, Lady Savin takes out a small rod, and ignites it, sending the red sparking flare into the sky. The cannons answer her, as Savins beautiful creations create a symphony of the enemies screams and their powder detonating, the gate opens and our defensive garrison rushes out, firing a loose volley as they run, we’d ride past as the Airships lift into the sky and fire their rotary salvos too, I love my home, and what a fine job Savin has done.
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Mahatma Gandi, fresh off the heels of his bloody victory over Montezuma and the former Aztec Empire, stood ready to make war against their little cousin on the bay: the city of Paris, capital and sole province of the minor state of France.
Gandi's forces flowed across the land in a wave of steel, gleaming in the dawn's light as they swarmed to surround Paris. The gates of the city of traders and scientists opened, and the leader of the city Catherine de Medici strode forth boldly to meet Mahatma Gandi at the front of his phalanx.
"Mahatma. An honor it is, to receive your personage on this beautiful morning. Shame you didn't give me more notice, I'm afraid the chefs don't have any pastries ready yet. I assume you are here to discuss our trade agreements?"
Mahatma Gandi spat on Catherine's shoes in disgust. "What need does Glorious India have, at this height of our supremacy, to 'discuss' anything? We have come to take what is ours by divine right.' Gandi scoffed derisively as he eyed Catherine's richly tailored robes. "Besides, we always found your prices unfavorable, anyway."
"Shame. Shame..." Catherine shook her head sadly. "We had hoped this day would not come, had hoped you would see reason and shy away from your bloody path. From the 'heights of supremacy', it would seem comes a very long fall."
Gandi laughed in Catherine's face, spittle spraying across her visage, his eyes crazed and red-streaked as he flung his hand across the armored infantry, lines of cavalry, and siege catapults standing at his back. "Fall? My dear Catherine, I can only go UP from here. To ever greater heights of glory! And all it will cost... is *your* world." Mahatma Gandi's malevolent grin stretched wide enough to split his face. Eyes unblinking, jaw quivering in excitement.
Catherine de Medici sighed once more, and turned her back on Mahatma Gandi and his forces with an idle wave of her hand. "So be it. We are sad that it came to this, old friend. May your next life be a gentler, kinder one." Catherine de Medici glided through the front gate of Paris, and removed a small item from an inner pocket of her robe. "Oppenheimer, this is Catherine. Acquire target, commence launch at your pleasure."
As the gate closed behind his former trade partner, Mahatma Gandi saw a great beast rise up from the depths of her city. It looked like a great eagle, but it roared like a dragon. It flew over his army, and seemed to lay an egg. The egg fell to the earth, a whistling scream piercing the air. When it impacted on the ground, Hell itself was unleashed upon the armies of India.
His soldiers burned instantly to ash, their armor melted and dissipated into vapor in the space of moments. There was no screams, for they died faster than air could leave their lungs. The land was burned, the air boiled away. The light of the egg's infernal hatching blinded out the sun itself.
Catherine, safe behind her city's shielded walls, shook her head sadly. "One must not neglect their pursuit of the sciences, Mahatma."
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[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
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"Now presenting His Imperial Eminence, Crown Prince Orion Himmel Caelum von Aeternus, of the House Aeternus, of the Ventis Empire."
The Prince was as pretentious in appearance as his name suggested. Dressed in golden armor (who even wears armor nowadays, let alone made of a metal as soft and heavy as gold?), with a cloak of rich Arabian purple from the Labanon, his alabaster skin adorned by his golden locks, which upon them were a crown of gold, studded with a dazzling deep crimson diamond half the size of my palm.
"Your Eminent Lordship, you are matching gazes with the High Executor of the Council of Trades, the ruling body over the Mollitiam State."
The Prince looked towards me, his charming smile momentarily fading into a condescending stare. The mirage was soon back on his powdered face.
"The stories do you no justice, High Executor! I can clearly see the wisdom of the scholars in your eyes."
_His father and his father's fathers condemned said scholars for criticizing the war. He himself burned the ones that remained or could not escape._
"Yet, your physique matches that of the finest of my Legionaries!"
_Of those that could not be threatened into silence, he had stabbed in the back. Can't have the veterans criticizing the 'Righteousness' of the 'Patriotic War'._
"And, yes, your wealth. It is surely the greatest of all the lands and waves. It surpasses even my father's mighty coffers."
_Which, you are here to intimidate me into parting with._
"You humble me with thy magnanimous praise, your Eminent Lordship. Please. We can talk in the privacy of our Counciliar Chambers."
///
"Thank you for bringing the wine, young lady. Now please depart the room, for we must have absolute privacy."
As soon as the mahogany laden steel doors shut, his entire demeanor and expression changed.
Mine did not. A jester's skill in acting is basically a prerequisite of my station.
"Now, lowly merchant, let us talk frankly."
"But of course ~~_you inbred mongrel_~~ your Eminent Lordship. What would you like to discuss?"
After scoffing for thirty seconds, which honestly sounded more like a choking stray mutt than any sound one would expect coming from the Heir Apparant of an empire, he gave his reply:
"Do not play the fool ~~no need for that, we got one right here~~ merchant. The Ventis Empire shall have total dominance over this entire continent ~~I am surprised he knew what 'continent' meant~~ and you are the last obstacle in this grand goal."
"Yes, of course your Eminent Lordship. We are aware that the Mollitiam State is the only other Sovereign nation on the landmass. But surely, after 350 years of brutal war, your soldiers would be exhausted?"
At that, he bristled at the imagined insult.
"We. Are. Not. Like. You. WEAKLING! Our empire stretches across the land, shore to shore our crimson banners fly, demonstrating our power and might! You shall prostrate yourselves to us, or we'l-- ARE YOU LISTENING?!!!"
He finally noticed my blank stare I see.
"Yes, of course your Eminent Lordship, do continue."
"Our armies surround your ENTIRE NATION!"
"I can see that, yes." Their banners were rather hard to miss.
"You are cut off by land and sea!" Well not by sea, but he didn't know that. Amongst many other things.
"I am aware of this, yes."
"We shall burn down this citadel to make an example of your insolence!"
"Our merchants have seen the ashes of Andulasia's defeat, yes."
"HOW ARE YOU THIS CALM? ARE YOU ON STRANGE SUBSTANCES? I SHALL HAVE YOU IMPALED! YOUR WIFE SHALL BE RAVISHED BY MY SOLDIERS. YOUR DAUGHTER SHALL BE MADE A PLEASURE SLAVE! YOUR SON WILL BE BURNT ON THE STAKE!"
At this, I leaned forward.
"Wow, so original. Andulasia said the same." I raised one of my eyebrows. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?"
"...are you actually on substances? I FAIL to see how are you this calm?!"
"Heh.heh.heh.heh heh heh HAHAHAHAHA!"
"What is SO HILARIOUS ABOUT YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES?!"
At this, I stood up and walked around the titanium-platinum table. When I was directly behind him I leaned over his shoulder. Ahh, his fear was most delicious. His shaking form was more delightful to my gaze than any work of paint nor marble nor metal in my many vaults. Honestly, he was shaking more than my seizure patients.
"Tell me, prince. Your armies are exhausted, your treasury is near empty. Is this not true?"
"But we still have enough to crush you..."
"Your Legionaries are poor in spirit. Generation after generation, for three and a half centuries, sent into the butcher's field that is the plains of battle. I imagine that resentment is immensely high at the moment?"
"They shall obey! Or suffer!"
"And your peasants are starving."
"Actually no. They were for a brief moment, but they are actually quite well fed. Apparently they have abundant cows now. Hmph! And they refuse to pay their taxes."
"Ever wondered where all that food suddenly came from?"
"...Ha obviously they came from... oh no."
"The peasants were starving, as they had to give almost everything they had to fund the war, and to feed your legionaries. Legionaries that you had not paid in 10 years. Who, even before not being paid, already hated you for that pointless 300 plus year war. The war that killed their fathers, and their fathers' fathers before them."
"..."
"Ever wondered where those scholars escaped to? And tell me, what do you think they were making during these centuries?"
"...the folly of pretentious scroll sniffers do not scare me..."
"Well then, you ever heard of this marvelous thing called serpentine?"
"I have heard of the snakes, yes."
"Oh no. Not the reptiles. The black powder."
"Black...powder?"
"Oh yes. When you pack a bunch of this into a metal tube and light a fuse... well... look outside."
The cannonballs started to rain down from the city walls, smashing apart the vanguard of the Imperial legions. Viscera, blood, and innards flew apart in grotesque displays of color as the frontlines literally blew apart. The few that made it close enough were ripped apart by canisters and grape shots.
"By the way, thanks for the privateers your family has sent to raid us over the past hundred and fifty or so years. They made great test subjects for our weapons."
"That explains the lack of survi---Y-y-you will run out of these miracle-weapons eventually! Look! The volley has already stopped! Besides, those were primarily noblemen! You all but cemented my House's power! The mainforce shall still destroy you all!"
"The same mainforce you had not paid in ten years?"
As if on cue, the aforementioned mainforce charged in to finish off whatever remained of the vanguard that had enough sense to not charge to their deaths. The hardened soldiers made swift work of the posh aristocratic scions, many of whom were already disorientated by fear beforehand.
"Funny how manners, coin, and food, will convert even the most loyal of subjects no?"
"You shall not win! I SHALL HAVE Y-AAAHHHH!'
His right leg flew off in a marvelous shower of crimson.
"My goodness, you are getting your inbred blood all over this Parsian rug. Let's fix that."
"Wait what do you me-AHHH!"
The stump sizzled like pork loins as it was burned closed.
"Honestly. What were those idiotic nobles thinking? Being in the frontlines... tsk tsk tsk! I suppose inbreeding kills one's intelligence more than we thought. Inquiries for later."
At this, the prince finally came to his senses and tried in vain to crawl towards the locked door.
"Now now prince, don't worry! I promise that I'll return you to your castle. So no need to rush..."
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The war between New Rome and New Carthage had been a vile, savage one. Well, at least it had been as vile and savage as a war can be without dropping an atomic bomb. These were two big evil empires, but even they knew that they could be malignant imperialist powerhouses without endangering their own survival for the future. But this story is not about them, nor is it about their conflict that spanned generations and to which just some scholars knew the roots of. This story isn't about the end of this war either, when history decided to repeat itself and bring success to the supposed descendants of the romans. This story is instead about an archipelago situated just in the middle of the sea between this empires.
This archipelago, ruled by a council formed by a merchant representatives of each island, was not the heir to a famous empire of old. At the start of the war they were independent, minding their own business, fishing, building, growing crops, but the thing with wars is that they are big destroying events that looked for every opportunity to thrive. So for protection, these islands had made alliances, they joined forces, developed their industries, made sure to be valued suppliers to both sides. Even if they knew that if a warship got too close to them, the army of the other side would shoot it down, they worked on protecting their docks. When they became the prime, if not sole, provider of weapons to both sides, they decided to arm themselves with the latest technologies and give the empires their second rate gear. Good quality gear, but still not top of the self. The archipelago developed itself, became self-sustainable and milked both empires for every bit of money and technology they could.
During the long time the war lasted, the resources of the empires dwindled, so when it was finally over, it wasn't the two mightiest forces of the globe fighting for supremacy, it was more akin to a slapfight between two old men whose hands wouldn't even let them close their fists anymore. But finally, New Rome won, and as every winner of a long contest, it was drunk with glory. Without thinking, their leader called forth an invasion of the archipelago, wishing to regain their money and make the glory last a little bit longer. They got on their ships, they sailed with purpose and, by the end of the week, they had turned tail and were going home with the white flag waving on top of every vessel. It's a highly debated topic the reason of their surrender, some say that they got first the message from the archipelagos saying that if they showed even the glimpse of a gun they'd stop every export of grain to the empire from them or any of the other commercial allies they had gained over the years. Other say it's the fact that when a ship did get on sight of the nearest port, it got obliterated so quickly the others ignored orders and went back home with both their pride and their underwears sullied.
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[WP] As part of your sentence, you are required to teach 'History of Villainy 101' at a prestigious superhero college.
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“Release me you fu-“ I blacked out as my “friend” sent 100 million volts of electricity through me
I woke up with the face of bolt, my once closest friend and the second strongest villain. I would have cursed him and snapped his neck with one of my shadows if I hadn’t be constrained by magic draining chains and the sealing spell on my mouth.
“This is fantastic! Static you have finally deemed yourself good enough to join us on the board of school directors” The man behind bolt exclaimed.
“Static? Who’s that?” I thought as I stated at bolt, as if waiting to receive an answer.
“Well we have a lot to talk about don’t we, Former number 1 villain.” The headmaster addressed me.
“What are you gonna do? Kill me?” I said tauntingly.
“Ha! You really think we’d fall for your trick? Static here, informed us that you can revive in one of your shadow ms somewhere out there if you died. We won’t be so idiotic as to let you escape like that.” The head master, now in front of me, said
“Well since we’re here, I have to take advantage of your situation don’t I? Well you would be useful teaching the college students some villain history won’t it. It would certainly make them more knowledgeable on how to hunt villains, and who knows, they might even hunt down all your shadows one day.” The headmaster retorted, angering me
“What makes you so sure that I would agree to help you? You don’t have any leverage on me.”
“You would think so, but what if I were to tell you that I have your dear wife with me?” He threatened.
Out of fear of what he would do to my wife, I had no choice. I agreed to his terms.
Entering the class, I saw the disturbed faces of the students. The students grumbled as I introduced myself and greeted them, well, all but one student.
“Villains and heroes are not so different. After all, they are just two sides of the same coin.” I explained, ending of my lesson. All the students rushed out of the classroom, except for one. It was the same student that didn’t grumble at me and answered all the questions.
“Umm… Mr dusk? Why do heroes still attack villains then? Why not just help solve the problem that actually turned the people into villains in the first place?” The boy asked innocently.
“Well, I actually want to find that out myself. What’s your power lad?”
“Matter manipulation.” The boy replied
“Let’s continue this conversation in the next lesson” I told him, a terrifying idea forming in my head.
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This school was a prestigious college for superheroes. Of course, you were assigned to teach people who were the weakest in the college. The college did this because if you tried to escape, these "heroes" would attack you and if you fought back, not only would the heroes come for you, the villains would be angry with you too. It Turns out attacking defenceless in-training heroes is a jerk move.
These students weren't pretentious as someone would expect from trainees. They were nice and sometimes poorly organized. Their powers were nice, such as being able to synthesize rubber or being able to summon portals the size of a fist. My favourite, though? The ability to make ram sticks infinitely more efficient.
The school didn't even bother keeping us in collars or anything. They knew that either the students would capture us, or we'd ruin our reputation and any glory we may have earned or had.
I had rotating classes, and overall it was a nice time at that school. The students were nice and didn't feel the need to attack me randomly. Even after my sentence was over, I decided to keep teaching there. It was a relaxing break from constantly fighting and planting bombs that I didn't realize I needed.
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[WP] As part of your sentence, you are required to teach 'History of Villainy 101' at a prestigious superhero college.
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"No, no, no, no..." I pinched the bridge of my nose, wire-rimmed glasses out of place as I try to expunge the brainless words from my ears. "You've got it all wrong."
"But Doc-"
"*Professor.*"
"... Professor, The Count spread the innards of his victims all over the crime scenes. If it wasn't rage and it wasn't for fun, what else would motivate something that gruesome?"
I sigh. Peabrain thought was being smart, which would probably get him killed one day. Sooner was better, in my opinion, but my job was to try and get the peabrains in this mundane classroom to germinate into something more... useful. Powerful. Even if I wanted to squish them into pea*soup*.
Placing my glasses in place and opening my eyes again, I step away from the desk I was leaning back on and start to pace across the front of the class.
"How may organs did The Count remove from his first attack?" I point into the crowd of students. "You, Mister Jeff, answer." Freaking jock, had abnormal strength but hardly the brains to direct it.
"Uh... four?"
I'm surprised he had an answer, seeing as he was more focused on sending a text to one of his many admirers.
"No, his first *attack*, not his first *kill*, though I give you points for at least getting *that* number correct."
A hand in the back gently lifted.
Ah. As expected. Good.
"Miss Janice? You have some insight?" I stop in a corner of the room and gaze across the herd to timid young woman.
"He only took one. A kidney." Such a lovely voice she had. Clear as crystal, soft as owls wings in the night, and with a mind as sharp as a monofilament blade.
"Yesssss... good. Finally someone who pays attention." The class rolls their eyes, but then they *do* expect some villainess theatrics from the only (ex) villain to teach at a school for superheroes. It would be bad form to disappoint them. "And you, Miss Anthrope,"
"Miss *Antiope"*
"Whatever, how many did he remove in his second attack."
"Two? A kidney and the gall bladder, I think?"
"*Corrrrrect....* we may be on a roll here, class!" I clap my hands together and start a slow pace again. "Who thinks they can answer the next question?"
"Three organs, lung, kidney, and gall bladder." A bored voice from the middle. Malcolm. Not the brightest, but certainly not an idiot. Might be hope for him, if he ever stops daydreaming about having powers above his place.
"Good. And what happened next?"
"The Count killed someone." Malcolm sighed. "Because the next organ was the other lung. and so every victim from then on died."
"And what do we learn from this?" Come on... someone must see the blindingly obvious.
"That's he's nuts?" *Peabrain, just shut up.*
"No, Mister Presley, that was understood from the fact that he was cutting into people *at all*. What *new* information is revealed in this pattern?"
"It was compulsive, and he had a logic to it." Janice spared a withering glance towards Presley. "A method to his madness."
"Miss Janice, you heroically save our class once again from the fumbling about of witless minds." You have to feed praise to the minds you wish to grow. Not too lavishly, and not too kindly. Just enough to stimulate growth and loyalty. "And what, do you think, was his method?"
I stop pacing to let the quiet fill the room like a savory scent of fresh stew on the stove as Janice's thoughts simmered away behind her eyes. Anticipation grew in the room, waiting to see if classes star pupil would finally be laid low. I knew better of course, Janice needed to know, needed to pull things apart and see how they ticked. She was like The Count, in that way, if for differing motives.
"We cannot understand his methods without understanding his madness, since his madness is what informed his methods." As expected, she navigated the trap and disarmed it, turning the question back on me. What I would have done for a head minion with half her brains while I was active...
"Very good. And what, class, was The Count's madness?" Don't worry, children, I won't bite... much. It's time to play nice. "Anybody? I do not expect anyone to actually know, so wild guesses are currently excepted without the usual acidic response. I may be an ass, but I like to pretend I am a *fair* ass."
I fielded a few stray ideas, hardly worth mentioning, but most of the fools had their tablets out for notes or were frantically searching for information that might make them look smart to everyone else.
To my surprise, it was Malcolm who tripped over the loose stone society had hoped would be left unturned.
"Wait... it says here that The Count went directly to a mental institution, and not even a terribly secure one. There wasn't even a trial or anything. No name given. It's like they got him and then he just..." The boy trailed off.
"Disappeared?" I smile at the boys uncomfortable expression. They never like being confronted with the dark underbelly of the society they fight so hard for. "Yes. Quite. It turns out The Count was a man who suffered from some form of mental retardation, I was never privy to what kind. He basically had the mind of a twelve year old boy, along with a host of co-morbid disorders. He was *just* smart enough to have discipline of thought, and to *know* he was different from everyone else, but could not grasp *why* or *how*. He spent most of his time watching children's television, but one day he found a new show to watch, a medical drama. It occurred to him that maybe he could find out what was wrong with him and try to fix it. At first he was just trying to understand each organ, alas, he was compelled by his varied disorders to follow a pattern in each attempt."
"A kidney, One!" I pluck an imaginary organ from an imaginary body on my desk and hold it aloft. "Ha, ha, ha..."
Tossing it away I plug again. "Gall Bladder, TWO! Ha, ha, ha..."
"That's why they called him The Count? Because he pretended to be-"
"The Count... yes." I am sure my smile does nothing to reassure them, but I don't care. "His favorite puppet. Too bad he never watched enough of Mister Roger's Neighborhood, things mind have turned out better."
I see Janice raising a hand. "Yes, Miss Janice, you have a thought?"
"So, the state finds out that, what, and overgrown child with mental health issues attacked 12 people, murdering 9 of them-"
"The murder was incidental," I correct her, terms are important. "It was the science he pursued, he had no wish to cause injury. It just never occurred to him that his actions were causing them injury."
"Right," Janice waved in acceptance, "and rather than look incompetent and not catching this ... child... sooner, and I guess to spare the victims families the shame of mockery, they just shove him in an institution, make a nothing press release, and throw the key away?"
I let her protest hang in the hair a moment before quietly answering.
"Of course they did. What would you expect they do?" I look at each of them. "Put the poor creature on trial? He is not capable. Worse, he is not *chargeable*. He has no mens rea. His intent was not criminal. His mind was not even capable of having criminal intent."
Time to drive this one home. "The city buried it under the constant news cycle, left the grieving families without justice or recompense. The killer unpunished, the victims unavenged. The police, incapable of outthinking a literal idiot, remain unpunished and untarnished by the legacy of poor investigative work."
"So, tell me, just who is the villain in this story?"
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This school was a prestigious college for superheroes. Of course, you were assigned to teach people who were the weakest in the college. The college did this because if you tried to escape, these "heroes" would attack you and if you fought back, not only would the heroes come for you, the villains would be angry with you too. It Turns out attacking defenceless in-training heroes is a jerk move.
These students weren't pretentious as someone would expect from trainees. They were nice and sometimes poorly organized. Their powers were nice, such as being able to synthesize rubber or being able to summon portals the size of a fist. My favourite, though? The ability to make ram sticks infinitely more efficient.
The school didn't even bother keeping us in collars or anything. They knew that either the students would capture us, or we'd ruin our reputation and any glory we may have earned or had.
I had rotating classes, and overall it was a nice time at that school. The students were nice and didn't feel the need to attack me randomly. Even after my sentence was over, I decided to keep teaching there. It was a relaxing break from constantly fighting and planting bombs that I didn't realize I needed.
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[WP] As part of your sentence, you are required to teach 'History of Villainy 101' at a prestigious superhero college.
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"What is a superhero?"
I threw the question to the class. Freshmen. New transfers. Young impressionable children. Not yet brainwashed with this vile school's ideologies. The white knight in shining armour who appears always to protect their city. The perfect hero that does no wrong and always does right by the world. This godforsaken 'aslyum' of a school.
"A superhero, by definition, is a person who does heroic deeds and has the ability to do them in a way that a normal person couldn't." I explained.
The students nodded. Grins plastered on their faces and excited to talk about their favourite superhero. They idolised them. Worshipped them. Gods among men.
"In order to be a superhero, you need power. More than a normal human being could possess, and you need to use that power to accomplish good deeds. And only good deeds. Isn't that right class?"
They nodded in unison. All cheering ecstatically.
"That's nice class!"
"All the superheroes are so cool right?" I asked again.
The students were unaware of what the class was, who I was and what I was going at. However, they played along, still cheering. They really did love them.
"We all love our superheroes don't we. Let's learn more about them shall we?"
The class of course, celebrated at the top of their lungs.
We were going to learn about superheroes. Just not the way they wanted. The class was called 'History of Heroism'. An inspiring class. It had good intentions. Preparing them to one day pick up the torch. But built on lies. These "superheroes" were nothing but privileged animals who were gifted with something they couldn't control, idolised as Gods and superiors. The masses all knew them as perfect people. But I found out something I shouldn't have. Hence the 'imprisonment' in this school.
We were going to learn about the superheroes. But how they expected. We were going to learn about the monsters behind the masks. Primal Animals who don't deserve what they have.
I turned on the slides. It showed pictures of the many atrocities of the heroes of our time.
I grinned and my teeth showed. Oh yes. We were going to learn. Learn the 'History of Villainy".
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This school was a prestigious college for superheroes. Of course, you were assigned to teach people who were the weakest in the college. The college did this because if you tried to escape, these "heroes" would attack you and if you fought back, not only would the heroes come for you, the villains would be angry with you too. It Turns out attacking defenceless in-training heroes is a jerk move.
These students weren't pretentious as someone would expect from trainees. They were nice and sometimes poorly organized. Their powers were nice, such as being able to synthesize rubber or being able to summon portals the size of a fist. My favourite, though? The ability to make ram sticks infinitely more efficient.
The school didn't even bother keeping us in collars or anything. They knew that either the students would capture us, or we'd ruin our reputation and any glory we may have earned or had.
I had rotating classes, and overall it was a nice time at that school. The students were nice and didn't feel the need to attack me randomly. Even after my sentence was over, I decided to keep teaching there. It was a relaxing break from constantly fighting and planting bombs that I didn't realize I needed.
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[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
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Forever young, still I fear death. I do not care for the wheels of time. I have already spent 20 years travelling this world, making any kind of experience, the fire of youth always burning in me. Yet, I fear death: that is something that the demon did not freed me from. At first I didn't get it. Was the genie just being mean? A whimsical gesture to avenge his own misery, forever doomed inside that lamp? Then I thought I understood. Death is what makes you alive. Every experience, every risk, every thrill is so exciting because of that constant fear underneath and that primitive joy in overcoming it. And not only that. Death, or its possibility to be exact, is the idea that we are not forever. Since accidents do happens, a mere fatality is , in my privileged position, still an invite for me to appreciate the flow of events, still appreciate the passing of the seasons, still wanting to enjoy the things that I like while I can and love the people that I love while I get the chance to.
But this other guy. Meeting him opened my eyes. What the genie really meant. Death is escape.
When I heard his tragic story, the story of his loss, how the love of his life was gone and how hollow and miserable his existence became... When I heard how the immortal body hosted now a forever broken soul, how the memories tortured him, how many nights he spent completely awake, wailing and screaming, when I learnt that centuries of sadness and asking questions forever doomed to stay without an answer cannot heal some wounds but only help make them deeper... Then I realized.
Death can be an escape, at worst. Personally I do not believe that this immortal I met would have ever tried to take its own life, even if he could. He had the willpower of the martyr, a willingness to suffer and experience all the sufferings he could possibly bear, as an everlasting testament to his lost heart.
Even if he lived a thousand lifes, he never really tried to move on, to forget or to forgive: he clinged to that sadness as the only way to still have her in his life.
But death can also be a promise. For those who believe, it can be a promise to reunite, be it in a otherworldly garden , in a warm and collective consciousness or maybe getting a second chance in another life: the mystery of death is the ultimate awaited harbor for optimism.
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"Astonishing how everything you want will change into an endless series of problems." They paused, lost in thought.
"*Immortality*" Heavy air forced through their nose as they ran their cracked hands along their scalp. Loose hairs fell to the floor leaving what thin tufts remained decimated.
"Everybody wants it. And I devoted my life to it. *I* got it. Not them; Me, *I* did it. I left everything behind. I put my *goals first*, and *everything else second*."
Their chin suddenly cocked sharply down to the right and then straightened slowly. A nervous tick? Grimacing briefly they ran their hand across their chest, resting it softly above the heart before snapping to attention and facing me once more. Eyes showed somebody was home, but this home was a mansion. Their stare bore a hole seeing well beyond the back of my head, though oddly keeping a dead lock on my iris as I uncomfortably shifted my head.
Quickly they snatched me by the neck, lifting me off my feet with unexpected dexterity and strength. My hands whipped to free my neck to no success. They twisted my neck left to right, even against my struggles not needing more than two fingers and a thumb to keep me up. They blinked an eye twice in quick succession and their eye flexed and molded itself into a better lens to magnify my skin. I would say augments but I couldn't see any telltale signs of manufacturing. Genetic engineering maybe? They tossed me to the ground. I sputtered and gagged on impact.
"Why are you doing this?" I managed to choke out.
"Why else? *Immortality* isn't a one time pill."
Chills ran up my spine as their chin snapped diagonal again, eyes unblinking. Locked on target. Locked on prey.
"Genie! Save me now, my second wish!"
A confused look enveloped their face as a small portal opened beneath me, pulling me down.
Their arm reached for me as their legs kicked with enough force to send specks of the floor into the air behind them. At first it seemed like their arm dislocated as it had extended, though to my horror their shoulder then seemed to pull extra mass from their torso to lengthen itself in inhuman ways.
"*NO!*" They bellowed
Their hand vanished from my sight so close to impact I could feel the woosh of the air. I fell backward, falling onto the broiled sand. I let my head fall back as the warmth of my new environment seeped into my clothes, and the dry air pulled the moisture from my mouth. Above me the genie floated, his arms crossed, his face stern.
"I thought you said you wouldn't use the other wishes when the first one wasn't what you asked for. What changed?"
I laid there with the sun bearing down on me, taking deep breaths of the clean air.
"You knew about that the whole time?" I asked
"You were not the first to wish for this. My service is to provide what you want, not what you ask for."
Sand fell into my mouth forcing me to spit. Specs of wet sand fell back down landing on my face. I laughed aloud a few times before responding.
"You're certainly not the genie I thought you were."
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[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
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"Harry" spoke with the slight accent of one whose mother tongue is German, though I knew he was English by birth. Well.. Saxon, at any rate.
We had met six months prior, in a support group. There are support groups for everything these days, and they're easy enough to find, if you're good with computers. There were a dozen of us, each with a different story, but the same struggles: blending in, keeping up.
It seems there's more than one way to an endless life. One of my mates claims to come by it naturally! Regardless, Harry, as he goes by nowadays, came by it like me, that damn genie, and we struck up a fast friendship. It's a good one, too. He knows things, but he's not as spry as he once was, so it's hard to get where we need to be, without help.
I was just a kid when I met Zohsudom. I was terrified of what would happen, when I got to Normandy, and completely ignorant of what this... *being* in front of me was, or of what it represented. I just knew I wanted to do my bit, and make it home to my folks in one piece. So I asked it to keep me from harm.
For all I might hate that infernal thing now, it was true to its word. I don't look nor feel a day over 19, even all these years later.
Harry is a different story, in some ways, but not so much in others. He was part of the household guard for some lord or other, and met Zohsudom on the eve of battle. Danes, he tells me. Like me, he had no wish to die, so he asked for life everlasting. He got it, but not the same as me. He tells folks he's 95, and he looks like a skeleton in a wheelchair.
We both had to watch everyone we love pass, and we've both had to tell some tall tales to stay out of trouble. It's hard to raise a family when your kids get to looking older that their father, and I suppose it's hard to keep a low profile when the local centenarian remembers you as "old Harry" but it's out lot. Unless we can change it.
I think we can.
See, we found a place where our stories crossed, an old church, in London. It was outside of London back in my day, and miles away for Harry, but we're sure it's the same spot. I got us some good looking passports, and if we're right, and the customs men don't look to close, we could be free of this.
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"Astonishing how everything you want will change into an endless series of problems." They paused, lost in thought.
"*Immortality*" Heavy air forced through their nose as they ran their cracked hands along their scalp. Loose hairs fell to the floor leaving what thin tufts remained decimated.
"Everybody wants it. And I devoted my life to it. *I* got it. Not them; Me, *I* did it. I left everything behind. I put my *goals first*, and *everything else second*."
Their chin suddenly cocked sharply down to the right and then straightened slowly. A nervous tick? Grimacing briefly they ran their hand across their chest, resting it softly above the heart before snapping to attention and facing me once more. Eyes showed somebody was home, but this home was a mansion. Their stare bore a hole seeing well beyond the back of my head, though oddly keeping a dead lock on my iris as I uncomfortably shifted my head.
Quickly they snatched me by the neck, lifting me off my feet with unexpected dexterity and strength. My hands whipped to free my neck to no success. They twisted my neck left to right, even against my struggles not needing more than two fingers and a thumb to keep me up. They blinked an eye twice in quick succession and their eye flexed and molded itself into a better lens to magnify my skin. I would say augments but I couldn't see any telltale signs of manufacturing. Genetic engineering maybe? They tossed me to the ground. I sputtered and gagged on impact.
"Why are you doing this?" I managed to choke out.
"Why else? *Immortality* isn't a one time pill."
Chills ran up my spine as their chin snapped diagonal again, eyes unblinking. Locked on target. Locked on prey.
"Genie! Save me now, my second wish!"
A confused look enveloped their face as a small portal opened beneath me, pulling me down.
Their arm reached for me as their legs kicked with enough force to send specks of the floor into the air behind them. At first it seemed like their arm dislocated as it had extended, though to my horror their shoulder then seemed to pull extra mass from their torso to lengthen itself in inhuman ways.
"*NO!*" They bellowed
Their hand vanished from my sight so close to impact I could feel the woosh of the air. I fell backward, falling onto the broiled sand. I let my head fall back as the warmth of my new environment seeped into my clothes, and the dry air pulled the moisture from my mouth. Above me the genie floated, his arms crossed, his face stern.
"I thought you said you wouldn't use the other wishes when the first one wasn't what you asked for. What changed?"
I laid there with the sun bearing down on me, taking deep breaths of the clean air.
"You knew about that the whole time?" I asked
"You were not the first to wish for this. My service is to provide what you want, not what you ask for."
Sand fell into my mouth forcing me to spit. Specs of wet sand fell back down landing on my face. I laughed aloud a few times before responding.
"You're certainly not the genie I thought you were."
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[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
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The year was 1816. I was a mere soldier in the Napoleonic wars when I encountered the genie in the lamp. Though the tales of their existence were quite many, I had never given them much thought till then.
As per their supernatural laws the genie offered me a wish to which I hastily asked for a body that could live till the end of time. It came naturally to me as breathing; the war had claimed many lives and I was desperate to make it back home. With immortality, I could abate the fear of death that haunted me day and night.
But the genie was a cunning being, instead of granting me an undying body it instead gave me an ageless one, a trick I found out after almost succumbing to my wounds on the battlefield. I lost a leg and three fingers but 200 years later it was nothing but a bitter memory.
Today I was tailing old man Jenkins, a man rumored to be as ancient as the town itself. He was a scrawny old man with an unkempt beard, people even joked that he was our local wizard. I had taken such comments as mere jests at first but on further investigation I picked up on some strange habits of his. The man lived right on the seaside and each day you could spot him building what could only be described as a crude vessel. He had never been spotted eating and it was said the only thing to grace his lips were the drinks of the town bars. Indeed the man was an enigma, perhaps like me?
As if he knew the whole time, Jenkins whipped his head around and looked me straight in the eye. "So the genie paid you a visit too, right?"
"How did you-" I started.
"I'm the one who summoned them in the first place, of course I can tell. Now end me!!!" In a frenzied rage, Jenkins sprung at me with rusted knife.
I was quick to respond with my pocket revolver, six shots buried themselves in Jenkins's chest. He toppled down in a heap, stayed for a few seconds then brought himself up.
"Fuck! I thought it would have worked with another immortal!So what's your business here mate?" He said all calm and refreshed.
Not giving me time to respond he sauntered off sobbing and crying to an old shed. Cautiously I limped to sneek a peek into the place to be greeted by the site of him mutilating his body with the knife. However as soon as fresh cut appeared fresh skin would come and cover it up without any trace or scar.
This process was repeated over the course of several minutes.
"Soon Susan... soon Mark... don't worry Jenna... One day I'll join you too, I swear it," croaked old man Jenkins. In an instant I grasped the situation, this was a man who yearned for death, sought its embrace yet never got it. He was a shell of his former self, a fate that would have inevitably occurred with me had I also received his curse. I looked at my revolver reassuringly since I knew I had a way out. The genie must have known. However I wasn't done yet, to leave Jenkins like that would be too cruel.
And so I began another journey, one to find the genie that had granted me my wish. I hoped to find answers and if possible a way to ease the old man's pain.
|
Not being able to die doesn't mean much if you can't breath.
I stared at him through the glass panes separating us. The dim light inside his room forcing me to see the reflection of myself imposed over his wrinkled face. My ageless curse, a superfluous and unwrinkled shine bouncing off my skin captured by the glass and back into my mind. Searing itself against my memories, an unchanging curse.
I always felt remorseful of my wish, the genies forewarning told me as much. "Forevermore will you be held/ against your life, you will wish to geld/ But furthermore you will see/ your life's folly you will be." I think the rhyme helped me to remember it but I know better, an ageless brain, always quick, always absorbing.
"Poor thing, choking but not to death." I turned a quarter-ways, ripping my reflection away, free from the burden. I look downwards, white skirt, white stockings, working shoes, white too. I stopped looking at other faces, lest I see myself in their eyes.
"No" I murmur, I wasn't ready to talk. I clear my throat and begin again, I turn quarter-ways back, meet myself and speak up. "No." It wasn't much but it was just the start.
"Come again?" Pleasant response, she knows her position.
"He is not choking, not anymore."
"The doctors say he is barely breathing, sir?" She's questioning my knowledge, *my* position.
"My grandfather, almost..." The pause to accentuate the lie, any suspicion is drawn away with false-truth. The idea that I'm not telling the whole story will satiate concern over whether or not the story is true. The red flag of truth now need waved for the bull to be drawn away from the man. "He suffered an accident a time ago. It is not that his breathing is constrained, it's that he doesn't know how to do it anymore." I'm almost right, I can tell.
"I'm sorry to hear that sir." I was taken aback, she was genuine, purely, in her remark. "No wonder she chose this profession." My first, shallow, thought.
No, there's something I overlooked. Something only decades of experience could enforce a man to overlook. I turned, half-on and searched for my answer where I hadn't looked before. I met her eyes, a deep blue with green, like mine I knew. Her face belonged preserved like mine, rosy cheeks filled with youth. Light brown eyebrows with sudden deep eyelashes to make all-the-more-prominent her bright, kind, eyes. A remarkably feminine face, and a deep scar, like lightning, stretched far from her chin across and up her right half.
The scar blanketed the one rosy cheek, parts of her nose, and saw fit to dip itself onto her forehead, killing parts of hair from her eyebrows. The accident she had was kind to her, it avoided her eyes. Eyes that moved away, a practiced response, one I knew all too well. Her lips were full of life but not colored to show it, I watched her mouth move to form her breath, filling the air with her words. I stared for too long, gave way to silence.
"Accidents can change an entire life..." A Meaningless sentence, filled with half-hearted grief.
"Or good fortune." What a stupid thing to respond with, she looked at me confused, meeting my eyes. Our curse had us both look back, through the pane of glass, into unopened eyes on a wrinkled face that won't see. "Have you heard of brain death?"
"No, sir." A reserved, fearful quiet. Begging to hear the horror of life, akim to the morbid curiosity of a mouse eating poison.
"He couldn't breathe for quite some time, it killed his brain, depriving it of oxygen and blood. Permanent damage, never will be the same again."
"A miracle he lived then." Still that same quiet grief, that genuine compassion.
"Is that even living, immortality but for what, to never live?" I wasn't expecting her to answer, the question wasn't for her. I realised after a long time, I finally asked myself a question. I had another question for myself, it was burning inside me. But first...
I turned fully towards *her.* i put my hand, weakly, on her shoulder, gave into her eyes, and spoke softly as I could.
"I'm sorry, do you know where the exit to this maze is, mind helping me find my way?" It wasn't an easy question. But her smile was the best answer.
"Of course sir, it's easy to get lost, let me take you to the exit." It wasn't going to be a long walk, but it would be long enough to get her name.
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[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
|
For the second time in my life, I held a genie lamp in my hand.
It was a tough search, of course. But there were certain benefits that a young body, paired with an ageless mind, are uniquely equipped to solve. Youth, fortunately, was not wasted on the old.
But I've seen plenty in my life. Was it enough? More than, certainly. There was no doubt that there would be more interesting (and uninteresting) events to occur over the next centuries. But I felt like I had nothing left to give to the world, a long, fulfilled life--not exhausted, but filled to the very brim with countless experiences and wisdom. I've written, recorded, and streamed what I could. Not everybody could live forever--but hopefully, they could live better with the aid from one.
And so I rubbed the lamp, plumes of blue-grey smoke rolling out from within. It was a faded memory, at this point, but there was a clinging familiarity to the way it wrapped around me, before eventually settling into the shape of a giant humanoid hulking over me. It was strange then, perhaps, for such a creature to immediately prostrate in front of me.
"Genie," I acknowledged.
"Master," they said. The voice boomed, yet felt empty, like endless echoes constructed into one voice.
"Are there three wishes left?"
"You speak like you are familiar with it," the genie raised a curious eyebrow.
"I've had the fortune of having another lamp in my lifetime."
"A human?! With two lamps?"
"Yes," I smiled. "And my first wish is for me to die."
The genie sat, silently observing me.
"The wish can be granted easily," they said. "But it is a curious wish."
"I am immortal," I said. "And it has been enough."
"Ah," the genie said. "But you are not merely immortal. You are ageless."
I stared at the billowing form in front of me, confused.
"Is there a difference?"
"Well, I regret not choosing to be ageless," the genie smiled wistfully. "Immortals continue to waste away. And to find a chance to carry on our long lives, eventually find ourselves living in a lamp."
With a jolt of realization, I realized what the first genie had done for me--saved my life.
"I'm changing my first wish," I said, quietly.
"Regret? Death is truly terrifying."
"Make me immortal, genie. Truly immortal."
"What?" the genie said. "What are you even saying?"
"Grant the wish, genie."
Once more, a long-ago dim part of my mind lit up, feeling magics crawl up and around my being, raising hairs and sending chills down every bone.
"My second wish--tell me how to enter a lamp."
The genie's bewildered expression softened, and he explained. It was not a complicated process, but did require some contortionist training--which I've thankfully taken up a few decades ago in an effort to fit into smaller spaces. The things treasure hunting required you to do.
"And my third wish? Become human once more, genie."
It was almost unceremonious at how quickly the gargantuan genie form retreated, the smoke sucking back into the lamp like a black hole consuming matter. And there beside me, a person stood.
"Why?" was the first question he asked.
"I've got more to give," I smiled, preparing to enter my new home for the foreseeable future. "Remember to wish for ageless."
---
r/dexdrafts
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The back of the tavern was a barren and desolate place, a silent little corner of this world untouched by all the hustle and bustle you’d expect to find in such a building.
Gingerly, I took a seat at one of the spot’s empty tables. Well, *almost* empty. Adjacent to myself, a lean man slouched slightly in a beyond awful bit of posture. His figure remained obscured by the thick veil his cloak provided, and his hands were riddled with (almost) protruding veins, sagging patches of skin, and the subtle tremble old age can invoke. The figure held an extended tankard, taking faint sips of the liquor every moment or so.
Through this whole exchange - or rather, the lack of one - he did not look up once. His concealed eyes merely glared down at his beverage, as though the amber liquid within held all the secrets to the cosmos.
I decided to speak up. “*Sir?*”
Nothing. Somehow, the silence around us seemed to deepen. “….sir?”
Grudgingly, the old man peered upwards, allowing the hood of his cloak to rustle up briefly. At this slight reveal alone, his elderly form proved more absolute then ever. “What?” a stern voice croaked.
Surprised he’d even bothered answering at all, I couldn’t help but stutter. “M-mind the intrusion, if it may offend you, but have you encountered the *genie of Fistenway?*”
The figure tensed. His characteristic trembling halting at once. He placed his tankard down softly, and in the quiet of the room, the gesture mimicked a tremendous slam.
“Why,” he began, offering not even as little as preamble. “Are you involving yourself in matters, that have not the slightest to do with you?”
“I spoke to him.” I continued hastily, trying to explain. “Twenty years ago, we spoke. I asked for immortality and he-“
There was a sloshing sound, then the banging of chairs, finished with a whistling of movement. “*You fool!*” he spat, outrage prevalent in every syllable. “*You Idiot! mindless twit…*”
The man was standing upwards now, his cloak dropped, presenting his bald head for any to witness.
“*Blackguard! Enemy of the*-“
He was cut off by a distressed waitress, ushering him out of the tavern as I was too taken aback to do anything.
By the time I followed his banished form outside, the faint flicker of later day had been consumed by the bleak hunger that is night. Making it considerably more difficult to track him down than I can tell you.
“I apologise sir. Truly.” I muttered softly, after finding him seated upon a fallen log. “I just request a few answers, and I shall take my leave.”
Without turning around, the man sighed. “I just hate seeing another take up the curse I must bare. It’s like watching one of your friends gain an addiction you’ve just overcome.”
Silence grew hard in my throat, like a particularly bad stuck piece of food. “Sir, I am *not* immortal.”
He swiftly turned around, face a materialisation of the word ‘shock’. “Well thank god for that then!”
The man’s body relaxed instantly, as if a century-long weight had just released off his back.
“Though I still can’t die through the traditional means. Only fist, blade or another outside force is able to truly harm me.” I extended both arms in an exaggerated gesture, as if displaying myself in all my glory. “Age and illness have no grasp upon this body.”
He laughed, before taking a quick swig of a bottle he must of nabbed on his exist.
“Go ahead then. Ask away.” he murmured drunkenly.
I fidgeted nervously. “Before that, may I ask why the prospect of true immortalisation was so-“
The man stood up, turned around ninety degrees to face me, and regained an impression of soberness in a single movement. As if it were no big deal at all, he pulled loose his shirt, tossing it upon the muddied ground between us.
I was about to express my distaste for such an action before I noticed something *much* more urgent. *Every patch of his skin was riddled with scars.*
“Though I cannot die, my body still bares the hardships of ageing.“ he began, in a deadpan tone. “Though I cannot be consumed by death, pain still taunts it’s spears at my flesh. Though I cannot mutter my final words, I must listen to those of my closet friends and family.”
Eyes turning hard, the man let out: “*That* is the curse that is immortality.”
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[WP] Long ago, you made a wish for immortality to a genie but the genie twisted it and made you ageless instead. After meeting an actual immortal person, you look back on it and reflect on how the genie was actually looking out for you.
|
For the second time in my life, I held a genie lamp in my hand.
It was a tough search, of course. But there were certain benefits that a young body, paired with an ageless mind, are uniquely equipped to solve. Youth, fortunately, was not wasted on the old.
But I've seen plenty in my life. Was it enough? More than, certainly. There was no doubt that there would be more interesting (and uninteresting) events to occur over the next centuries. But I felt like I had nothing left to give to the world, a long, fulfilled life--not exhausted, but filled to the very brim with countless experiences and wisdom. I've written, recorded, and streamed what I could. Not everybody could live forever--but hopefully, they could live better with the aid from one.
And so I rubbed the lamp, plumes of blue-grey smoke rolling out from within. It was a faded memory, at this point, but there was a clinging familiarity to the way it wrapped around me, before eventually settling into the shape of a giant humanoid hulking over me. It was strange then, perhaps, for such a creature to immediately prostrate in front of me.
"Genie," I acknowledged.
"Master," they said. The voice boomed, yet felt empty, like endless echoes constructed into one voice.
"Are there three wishes left?"
"You speak like you are familiar with it," the genie raised a curious eyebrow.
"I've had the fortune of having another lamp in my lifetime."
"A human?! With two lamps?"
"Yes," I smiled. "And my first wish is for me to die."
The genie sat, silently observing me.
"The wish can be granted easily," they said. "But it is a curious wish."
"I am immortal," I said. "And it has been enough."
"Ah," the genie said. "But you are not merely immortal. You are ageless."
I stared at the billowing form in front of me, confused.
"Is there a difference?"
"Well, I regret not choosing to be ageless," the genie smiled wistfully. "Immortals continue to waste away. And to find a chance to carry on our long lives, eventually find ourselves living in a lamp."
With a jolt of realization, I realized what the first genie had done for me--saved my life.
"I'm changing my first wish," I said, quietly.
"Regret? Death is truly terrifying."
"Make me immortal, genie. Truly immortal."
"What?" the genie said. "What are you even saying?"
"Grant the wish, genie."
Once more, a long-ago dim part of my mind lit up, feeling magics crawl up and around my being, raising hairs and sending chills down every bone.
"My second wish--tell me how to enter a lamp."
The genie's bewildered expression softened, and he explained. It was not a complicated process, but did require some contortionist training--which I've thankfully taken up a few decades ago in an effort to fit into smaller spaces. The things treasure hunting required you to do.
"And my third wish? Become human once more, genie."
It was almost unceremonious at how quickly the gargantuan genie form retreated, the smoke sucking back into the lamp like a black hole consuming matter. And there beside me, a person stood.
"Why?" was the first question he asked.
"I've got more to give," I smiled, preparing to enter my new home for the foreseeable future. "Remember to wish for ageless."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
It's a cross to bear, of a sort. A penance, for you, for the genie. The reminder that some wishes should never be granted.
That poor genie. A being without emotions, without empathy, so alien that the very concept of humanity is an anomaly to it, just like it is an anomaly to humans. It never cared, never gave a single damn about the flickering existences summoning it and asking foolish questions.
The genie granted what the summoners wished for, not what they wanted. Eons passed, and with each passing moment materialized on earth, the genie familiarized itself with the finer points of this reality. The concepts, material and immaterial, morals, vices and virtues. Worst of all, it started to enjoy and appreciate some of these bags of flesh that kept calling him.
We had infected the genie. Some may call it another great step for humans, another form of conquest beyond the known dimensions, but that could not be further from the truth. It's a tragedy. The genie learned grief, it learned hate, it learned sadness. It learned what it had done, and understood it never should have come here.
It's too late for that now.
You leave the genie in its featureless white room, a reminder of a lost home, and go down the hallway to lean into an open door.
"Miss Sullivan?" you inquire, "your duvet fell off."
A dried husk lies in the bed in fetal position. It does not breathe, the lungs have turned to dust long ago. A croak still escapes the mummified mouth, it's a thank you. You put the duvet in place, replace the cushion, take the time for a little bit of small-talk. You speak alone, she cannot answer back, and your sentences are for the most part meaningless, the words trivial. You speak of the leaves blown away by the wind, of the children in the next village growing up, of the sea coming and going as it always has.
As Miss Sullivan's long life went on, her friends died one after the other. She did not want to form new connections, but had to lest she become mad from isolation. These new people, too, fatally died, as did her family. Slowly, her body started to rot, and with it came the inability to form words, to smile, to extend a hand, to catch the attention of someone for the shortest moment.
All of these possibilities are gone now. You hold her hand with both of yours, and carry a warmth in your voice, one you know she came to love and wait for every single day. It's the best and only positive moment in the never ending dusk of her life.
Under the skin of your hand, you feel the slightest hint of relaxation. Miss Sullivan knows that, today, you did not bail on her. You came and spoke with her, just as promised. Tomorrow too, she will fear a sudden disappearance from your part, despite your assurance, and wait anxiously for you to come by. She will shed a phantom tear when she feels your warm touch on her dried skin once more.
You will never take that fear away. She has lost every single one she cared about, it is part of her.
You open the window to let some fresh air inside. Afternoon is turning into evening, the smell of the oncoming autumn is strong.
Out of the chamber, you go down a flight of stairs, and steel yourself for the physical part of the day. It smells like blood, a man screams in pain.
Through the door, you find a pool of blood, splatters on the ceiling and the walls, nothing is spared.
Good thing you covered everything with plastic. You just have to peel it off and apply new sheets.
That is, after you calmed John Doe down.
John Doe had entered the phase when immortality had not a single good thing about it left and was only seen for what it was, a horrible, terrible curse. The blood pours out from his severed hand, he had overcome his pain to go a step further. For nothing. A normal man would have been dead by now, John would never know such peace.
Today, he has maimed himself a little bit more, shortening his time of good health by that much.
You take the knife away, give him a pill to swallow. His movements become slow, his speech slurred. You send him to the shower as you start to change the plastic sheets in the room.
John had forgotten his name and come to an existential panic. He tried every possible way to end a life. Only when he would outgrow his fear and accept the tragedy he had called upon himself would he sit down and wait for the end to never come. John would choose a new name, as Miss Sullivan had done, and be unable to know just why it had to be that particular name.
Millennia of memories collided in a human sized psyche, muddling them, rendering today's breakfast as real and present as the sand of Egypt blowing around as the pyramids were built centuries ago.
People fear death, it's only natural. What if it comes too soon? At a bad moment? Before that essential moment of glory, that "aha!" making death sweet as life had become a life well-lived?
But a story has to end. There has to be a happy, sad or somewhere in between form of conclusion. A final point to a good book, be it big or small. Immortals are denied that, and as time goes on, the end becomes an obsession.
Life is a circle. Breaking out of it is a curse, not a boon. You didn't know that when the Genie cheated on your wish. Only now, as you take a look upwards, as if gazing through the ceiling at the sadness struck genie, do you understand how it truly saved your life by giving you the ability to die.
The room is clean, John has calmed down and you are gently leading him to bed by the hand. It would soon be time to sleep.
The sun is setting, an orange glow permeates the land and this building, this strange retirement home where no place is ever vacated.
"Mister Miller? What are you doing up? It's almost time for bed."
In the main hall, near the exit, is the mummified husk of Mister Miller, in a similar state than Miss Sullivan. Only, he still managed to move the wheelchair around, centimeter by centimeter.
He was able to go down one hallway, if he kept the effort ongoing for the entire day. This was the last thing he was physically able to do, and he would do it until the very end. Mister Miller never slept, you speak to him of nap time only to give him some sense of time in this place. He has to feel the last shred of muscle and strength in his arms and legs, the last jolt of power.
And he has managed to go quite far today, almost to the exit.
You look at him with a smile.
"That's some good work, it deserves a reward. Let's go outside."
You take the wheelchair into the cool evening air, enjoying the last sun rays of the day. Does he feel the wind? Who knows.
A low croak escapes the rotten throat, unintelligible. But you know what it means, it's always the same.
*Tell me about a time when a person could run with light steps, young and strong. Tell me about a time when man and woman could walk down a path on a winter day, hand in hand. Tell me about a time when children played in the sand, a lifetime ahead of them. Tell me about movement. Tell me about life.*
The wheelchair rolls without a noise in the grass. The breeze carries a refreshing humidity, in the distance, the sun is almost gone. And as you push Mister Miller around, you talk.
You speak of the leaves blown away by the wind, of the children in the next village growing up, of the sea coming and going as it always has.
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Credit goes to [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oxro14/wp_a_hyper_advanced_alien_race_decides_to_mimic/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
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[WP] A hyper advanced alien race decides to mimic Darwin's study of finches with humans. Several groups of Homo sapiens are placed on different planets and monitored over a long period of time for adaptations/evolution. You've just been abducted from planet A to be studied alongside the others.
|
The Darwinian Olympics were cruel. A gold medal meant your genes were spread far and wide. Silver would get your genome analyzed for favorable alleles. Bronze got you sent home back to your gene pool. But fourth meant your genes were pruned, generally using the Torch unless you happened to compete in one of the sports that did the pruning naturally, like Lava Racing or Chess.
But the human race had to be recombined somehow. Too many millennia had passed with populations cut off on their own planets. Too much genetic drift. But every race had abilities that had helped them survive their planet. All of these genes would be combined to make the new unified humans.
Julia didn't compete in the short distance events. Her legs were long and graceful but she took too long to get up to speed. The cheetah-children of a dozen planets would outrun her in any race under half-mile. Similarly, the middle distances were dominated by the dog-men, the mountain races by those with cloven toes and rock-claws, the swamp race by the semi-aquatic.
But the desert ultramarathon was hers to win or lose. A thousand kilometers, burning sun and freezing nights, no water but what you could find. A control-natural human from Earth would die before making it 50 kilometers.
Julia came from Desolation. When the human colony had been abandoned there, it had been a marginal world. Then slowly increasing solar flares had dried out the last of the shallow seas, forcing her people to migrate between distant oases. To her, the Sahara seemed like a fine spring day.
She had been loping along for seven days. She'd seen spots of water, low pools and solitary trees, several times, but hadn't bothered to stop for it. Her fat stores were running low, though. The last of the calories she'd started with would run out soon. Fortunately, this desert was like a smorgasbord, and snake was tasty.
Julia was just finishing up the two cobras when she heard the baying of a pack of competitors. They were passing her to the north, and from the sound there were at least three of them, enough to steal her victory and consign her and her genes to oblivion. They should have been far behind her but must have kept running whenever she stopped to eat. She sprung to her toes to follow them.
It had been foolish to stop to eat this close to the finish line, even for a few minutes. The dog-men were in their terminal sprint, saving nothing for after the finish line. It took Julia an hour to pull close enough to the pack to count them. There were four of them left. They'd probably eaten the rest of their pack instead of hunting for food to save time.
The fourth one gave her a chance. If there had been three they would have run straight to the medals and left her to the Torch. But one of them wouldn't make it, and they knew it. Already they were taking opportunities to snap at each other's sides, hoping to gain an advantage. As the final stadium came into view, Julia was still a hundred meters behind, but with her two long legs she flew ten meters on each bound. The dog-men were in a mad sprint, jostling each other. The back two were desperate.
As they rounded into the stadium for a last lap in front of the crowd, a cheer arose. Julia could see the flag of Desolation waved by a row of tall tribeladies near the finish. As the five racers rounded the last corner, the fourth place dog-man grabbed the ankle of the man in third place, making him stumble. The third snapped his jaws at the fourth causing them both to go down in a pile.
Julia leaped over them both. They reached up their claws to catch at her, but were too tangled with each other to make the jump that would have required. The tribeladies trumpeted their applause as she crossed the finish line.
Third. It was back to the gene pool for her. The Darwinian committee wouldn't incorporate her genes this time. But her children were sure to compete in the next games, and her own people would make sure that she had many children.
|
It had been three human millennia since the Xhilixii Pact's observation of Sol III began. Xhar Yzrau'm, the chief observer of the project, wondered often how this idiotic race was going to last another million years. Their modes of thought, their philosophies on life, all just seemed so completely antithetical to the long term survival of a race. Case in point: the branch of the project concerning human reproduction and evolution. The feed from the project's satellite was showing a scene from the strange world.
It was a gorgeous August night. The moon caressed the tops of the trees. In a clearing in these woods, a couple was having a picnic. The guy had his head in the girl's lap, and the girl was feeding him French fries. He reached up and toyed with her hair. They were laughing. The girl looked down at the boy's face and noticed that his laughter was... restrained. He wasn't as playful as usual.
"What's up with you, sugar? Do you need to talk about something?"
The guy shifted uncomfortably. "Hey babe, I have... a bit of a serious question for you." The girl felt his pulse quicken slightly. "Well, shoot. What's eating you?" He was silent for a few seconds. "Do you think..." He hesitated, and took a breath. "Do you think... that lady Cyclops have one giant tiddy in the middle of their chests?"
She tried to be annoyed, but it was hard with this man. He was such a goofball. Her sides couldn't take much more punishment.
"OK, but seriously, there's something I needed to talk to you about. Something pretty major. I just... I can't keep this from you."
"Miles, if this is another of your philosophical misadventures, I'm choking you to death with this Oscar Mayer jumbo dog." She lightly poked his lips with a weenie. He pinched her side.
"Okay, I'll tell you. I lied about that trip to the clinic. It wasn't for neck pain. It was for..." She felt him trembling a little. "It was for a sperm test. And I'm... well, dry."
He wouldn't meet her eyes. They sat in silence for a bit. Miles tried to read Becca's face, but it was dark. Becca wasn't sure how she felt, either. They'd known each other for their whole lives. She knew they were going to end up together. She couldn't fathom anything else. But impotency... that was nothing minor. It all came down to one question, she felt. Did her desire to one day have kids outweigh the overwhelming love and care she felt for this being? That simplified it greatly. She kissed him on the forehead. He smiled. She smiled.
Xhar didn't smile. He didn't understand happiness. And he definitely didn't understand love. This human female's genetic tale had reached its last page with this moronic decision. In general, human mating practices were idiocy on top of idiocy. Why the humans abandoned the more traditional mating practice of one male to multiple females, Xhar didn't understand. It was the most efficient. It had the greatest yield. Why humans all too often chose love instead of an ideal set of phenotypes eluded him as well.
That said, humanity didn't seem to have any trouble overrunning their planet with their current practices. He only wondered if they would be able to organize an extraterrestrial exodus before time ran out. And oddly, he found himself preferring that they did.
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Credit goes to [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oxro14/wp_a_hyper_advanced_alien_race_decides_to_mimic/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
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[WP] A hyper advanced alien race decides to mimic Darwin's study of finches with humans. Several groups of Homo sapiens are placed on different planets and monitored over a long period of time for adaptations/evolution. You've just been abducted from planet A to be studied alongside the others.
|
The Darwinian Olympics were cruel. A gold medal meant your genes were spread far and wide. Silver would get your genome analyzed for favorable alleles. Bronze got you sent home back to your gene pool. But fourth meant your genes were pruned, generally using the Torch unless you happened to compete in one of the sports that did the pruning naturally, like Lava Racing or Chess.
But the human race had to be recombined somehow. Too many millennia had passed with populations cut off on their own planets. Too much genetic drift. But every race had abilities that had helped them survive their planet. All of these genes would be combined to make the new unified humans.
Julia didn't compete in the short distance events. Her legs were long and graceful but she took too long to get up to speed. The cheetah-children of a dozen planets would outrun her in any race under half-mile. Similarly, the middle distances were dominated by the dog-men, the mountain races by those with cloven toes and rock-claws, the swamp race by the semi-aquatic.
But the desert ultramarathon was hers to win or lose. A thousand kilometers, burning sun and freezing nights, no water but what you could find. A control-natural human from Earth would die before making it 50 kilometers.
Julia came from Desolation. When the human colony had been abandoned there, it had been a marginal world. Then slowly increasing solar flares had dried out the last of the shallow seas, forcing her people to migrate between distant oases. To her, the Sahara seemed like a fine spring day.
She had been loping along for seven days. She'd seen spots of water, low pools and solitary trees, several times, but hadn't bothered to stop for it. Her fat stores were running low, though. The last of the calories she'd started with would run out soon. Fortunately, this desert was like a smorgasbord, and snake was tasty.
Julia was just finishing up the two cobras when she heard the baying of a pack of competitors. They were passing her to the north, and from the sound there were at least three of them, enough to steal her victory and consign her and her genes to oblivion. They should have been far behind her but must have kept running whenever she stopped to eat. She sprung to her toes to follow them.
It had been foolish to stop to eat this close to the finish line, even for a few minutes. The dog-men were in their terminal sprint, saving nothing for after the finish line. It took Julia an hour to pull close enough to the pack to count them. There were four of them left. They'd probably eaten the rest of their pack instead of hunting for food to save time.
The fourth one gave her a chance. If there had been three they would have run straight to the medals and left her to the Torch. But one of them wouldn't make it, and they knew it. Already they were taking opportunities to snap at each other's sides, hoping to gain an advantage. As the final stadium came into view, Julia was still a hundred meters behind, but with her two long legs she flew ten meters on each bound. The dog-men were in a mad sprint, jostling each other. The back two were desperate.
As they rounded into the stadium for a last lap in front of the crowd, a cheer arose. Julia could see the flag of Desolation waved by a row of tall tribeladies near the finish. As the five racers rounded the last corner, the fourth place dog-man grabbed the ankle of the man in third place, making him stumble. The third snapped his jaws at the fourth causing them both to go down in a pile.
Julia leaped over them both. They reached up their claws to catch at her, but were too tangled with each other to make the jump that would have required. The tribeladies trumpeted their applause as she crossed the finish line.
Third. It was back to the gene pool for her. The Darwinian committee wouldn't incorporate her genes this time. But her children were sure to compete in the next games, and her own people would make sure that she had many children.
|
There were a lot of things you could change about humanity. Our height, amount of body hair, how we scavenged for food but one thing you couldn’t change was our humanity. That primal instinct developed from our first steps in evolution. I stared at the humans next to me, each sharing that same look of unease, forced to stand pretty while we waited for whatever alien would come through the door.
“Guessing you were all kidnapped, too? How longs it been? Ten thousand years? Two thousand? One thousand? We lost count on our planet, went a little mad for a while. The first few centuries were rough. Anyway, we really have to stop meeting like this.” I tried to crack a joke, but no one laughed, well except for one man, he was laughing hysterically but had been doing so since we entered, so it felt more mocking than supportive. “What’s up with him?”
“Some sort of coping method, I assume. For simplicitie’s sake, you are subject A, he is D. I am B and the woman next to me is C. Questions?” The woman by my side seemed the most well adapted, wearing a black jacket with a white dress shirt underneath, her outfit screaming rigorous formality. I tried to look her over for any abnormalities, but she quickly dissuaded me with a snap of her fingers. “I am from Earth if you are wondering.”
“Right, that makes sense. You seem far too normal. Guess my planet affected our height then if you are anything to go off.” I towered over the other subjects, feeling a bit like a freak in this situation, not helped by the thick coating of body hair I had.
“You kind of look like a monster.” Subject C meekly said, only to cover her mouth as if she meant to whisper that. “Not in a bad way, you just scare me.” Subject C was the smallest of the lot, her legs stubby and her hair frizzled. She had long nails, which still had dots of dirt underneath, staining her fingers in it.
“Is scary. He big, we should kill before he kills us.” The laughter stopped as subject D faced me. His eyelids having grown over his eyes, leaving a strange sagging skin hanging where his eyes should be. The best way to describe him was feral, his clothing only containing loose scraps of purple shrubbery and various undesirable pelts made from who knows what type of animal. His teeth were sharpened, and body hunched. He gave a few more laughs, appearing to rely on them for sight.
“Why would I kill you? I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. Look, how about we share our names? I hate referring to everyone as a letter or subject. My names Ralox and you are?” I made a swaying gesture with my hand, waiting for someone to answer. Silence followed for a moment before B answered.
“Michelle. C?” She glanced at the smaller woman at her side, who froze, frantically tapping away at her fingers before speaking.
“Lizza. Um, does D have a name too?” Lizza didn’t seem to know which of us to fear more, me or the feral one. She stuck as close to Michelle as humanely possible, our eyes all on the eyeless one.
“Tuga. If Ralox not going to kill us, why are we waiting? We should be hunting.” Tuga said, turning his attention to the door of the room we were in. I wasn’t sure if Tuga meant for his words to be as profound as they were, but it struck something in me.
“Hunt? You think we could kill them? I don’t like our chances, but I also don’t like the idea of living as a test subject.” Tuga only gave me a nod, already making his way towards the door, only to get grabbed by Michelle.
“That’s suicide. We walk out of that door, and we all end up dead. We won’t win a war with just four people. That’s why I think I should inform you of Earth’s progress in space travel. While our progress has been slow, we have been showing good signs. I think we might even be ready for long-term space travel in a few hundred years.” She said, beaming, trying to hide a smirk.
“Do they know about this? I can’t imagine they will let you fly freely.” I enquired, watching that smirk finally break free.
“Not at all. We have kept our work hidden. We haven’t tested our ship in flight, but we have faith it will work. Maybe we can seek your planets and work together with a rebellion of some nature?”
“I… actually don’t want to rebel. Our planets rather comfortable, we have food, and no one even tries to eat us. I don’t know if I could live among you… savages. No offence.” Lizza said, hiding behind Michelle after her comment and for good reason, too.
“SAVAGE! We are warriors, not savages. We need to fight, not allow ourselves to be used. If war is coming, we will fight. Waiting is annoying, but if wait ensures fighting, we wait.” Tuga hissed at the three of us before returning to his laughter.
“Right, three out of four it is, then. You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to, Lizza. It would be nice to have some more numbers, though. If we don’t make contact before the next examination, we should find a way to share information. Things like population numbers, progress on technology and so forth. Preferably coded information if possible.” I suggested. Lizza considered that before nodding.
“We could make everyone carry notes with them constantly.” She suggested, only for Michelle to continue the thought.
“Or give everyone tattoos. Although it will be a nightmare trying to understand the messages without giving away our plans. Anyone else have a suggestion?” Michelle asked.
“Carve it into our skin.” Tuga clapped at his idea, finding it ingenious, while the rest of us shared the same look of confusion.
“Notes or tattoos are fine if you ask me.” Michelle turned to the door, watching as it slid open, giving us each a nod. “Let’s hope we meet again then.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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Credit goes to [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oxro14/wp_a_hyper_advanced_alien_race_decides_to_mimic/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
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[WP] A hyper advanced alien race decides to mimic Darwin's study of finches with humans. Several groups of Homo sapiens are placed on different planets and monitored over a long period of time for adaptations/evolution. You've just been abducted from planet A to be studied alongside the others.
|
The Darwinian Olympics were cruel. A gold medal meant your genes were spread far and wide. Silver would get your genome analyzed for favorable alleles. Bronze got you sent home back to your gene pool. But fourth meant your genes were pruned, generally using the Torch unless you happened to compete in one of the sports that did the pruning naturally, like Lava Racing or Chess.
But the human race had to be recombined somehow. Too many millennia had passed with populations cut off on their own planets. Too much genetic drift. But every race had abilities that had helped them survive their planet. All of these genes would be combined to make the new unified humans.
Julia didn't compete in the short distance events. Her legs were long and graceful but she took too long to get up to speed. The cheetah-children of a dozen planets would outrun her in any race under half-mile. Similarly, the middle distances were dominated by the dog-men, the mountain races by those with cloven toes and rock-claws, the swamp race by the semi-aquatic.
But the desert ultramarathon was hers to win or lose. A thousand kilometers, burning sun and freezing nights, no water but what you could find. A control-natural human from Earth would die before making it 50 kilometers.
Julia came from Desolation. When the human colony had been abandoned there, it had been a marginal world. Then slowly increasing solar flares had dried out the last of the shallow seas, forcing her people to migrate between distant oases. To her, the Sahara seemed like a fine spring day.
She had been loping along for seven days. She'd seen spots of water, low pools and solitary trees, several times, but hadn't bothered to stop for it. Her fat stores were running low, though. The last of the calories she'd started with would run out soon. Fortunately, this desert was like a smorgasbord, and snake was tasty.
Julia was just finishing up the two cobras when she heard the baying of a pack of competitors. They were passing her to the north, and from the sound there were at least three of them, enough to steal her victory and consign her and her genes to oblivion. They should have been far behind her but must have kept running whenever she stopped to eat. She sprung to her toes to follow them.
It had been foolish to stop to eat this close to the finish line, even for a few minutes. The dog-men were in their terminal sprint, saving nothing for after the finish line. It took Julia an hour to pull close enough to the pack to count them. There were four of them left. They'd probably eaten the rest of their pack instead of hunting for food to save time.
The fourth one gave her a chance. If there had been three they would have run straight to the medals and left her to the Torch. But one of them wouldn't make it, and they knew it. Already they were taking opportunities to snap at each other's sides, hoping to gain an advantage. As the final stadium came into view, Julia was still a hundred meters behind, but with her two long legs she flew ten meters on each bound. The dog-men were in a mad sprint, jostling each other. The back two were desperate.
As they rounded into the stadium for a last lap in front of the crowd, a cheer arose. Julia could see the flag of Desolation waved by a row of tall tribeladies near the finish. As the five racers rounded the last corner, the fourth place dog-man grabbed the ankle of the man in third place, making him stumble. The third snapped his jaws at the fourth causing them both to go down in a pile.
Julia leaped over them both. They reached up their claws to catch at her, but were too tangled with each other to make the jump that would have required. The tribeladies trumpeted their applause as she crossed the finish line.
Third. It was back to the gene pool for her. The Darwinian committee wouldn't incorporate her genes this time. But her children were sure to compete in the next games, and her own people would make sure that she had many children.
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# Graduation Day
A hundred little islands of light spread out into the night at Primus’s feet. He had adapted himself to human thought patterns; looking at the islands he thought nothing of vortex pits and kathar eyes, like a true man of his race would, but rather of toadstools or lilypads: their colors blue shifted slightly and flickering at the edges.
Each island was a world. Each world an experiment. His office was the night sky of another, abandoned world. In the distance wind whistled through the ruins of a dead race. His every step crushed foreign grasses beneath his feet, sending a smell into the air that a human might have compared to lemongrass. Primus reoriented the display with a negligent wave of his hand and it all shifted, zoomed in on a particular world.
Ripuari. So called because of a strange linguistic similarity between the now relocated locals and an old human group from Planet A. It was a world of high mountain fastnesses and equatorial valleys so deep they were warmed from above and below, the sun’s rays competing with the molten core to turn the valleys into boiling cauldrons where only the strongest might survive. Perhaps, Primus thought, he would place a small pocket of humans into one such valley. Halfway up the sides, maybe a bit more. Just far enough that life would be hard, but not unlivable. The Goldilocks Zone, he believed they called it.
“Here you are, sir.” The intern approached, head lowered deferentially, a steaming mug of the thing humans called coffee held out before her. Primus took it, sipped gratefully. His work here was nearly completed. He had begun the project a thousand light years distant, dreamed it up one night over fine, sweet wines while gazing down the sheer vertical drop of the Pyrantine Heights, a place much like the valleys on Ripuari though fully artificial. The Home World stored criminals at the bottom, discontents. The poor. Primus took another sip, savored it.
Down there the poor had evolved, a few had even made it out. One had sat beside him, elegant in a dress of spun gold, her hair set off by a ribbon that changed colors based on the viewer’s lived experience. To him it was dark: a black that ate the light.
She had said nothing, she hadn’t needed to. People such as her said what they needed to by the very proof of their existence. That one so debauched as a citizen of the Pyrantine Depths could rise so high as to sit at its peak next to him, drinking fine, sweet wines and eating powerful men’s attention as her ribbon ate the light—
Well, Primus had named the project after her for a reason. He stood on the edge of it now, looking down at twisted little Ripuari, at the natural cauldrons where he would plant human life, that most debauched of species. There, Primus thought, there they were learn to be Men. There on Ripuari and on Cirta and Yveltal and a hundred other worlds. One of them would treat their race like the Pyrantine Depths had treated her. Crushed down to near nothingness and raised back up as a glorious diamond. They would change. Adapt.
And entire experiment would bear her name. The Vira Project. He would make her name sing from heights even higher than the Pyrantine. When he returned, centuries from now, perhaps that would mean something. Primus wondered idly if her ribbon would still be so dark.
He finished the coffee, swirled the last bitter sip around his mouth. There was one final matter of course. Each world had a monitor, tasked with the observation of the experiment over many, many years. Each shift would last a century, nearly a tenth of his people’s lifespan. It was a commitment, and Ripuari’s monitor had just bowed out. Primus had gotten news that very morning. The humans would be there soon, boiling in their cauldrons. He could conceivably introduce a monitor to them later under the premise that they were from a different cauldron valley, but in the beginning Primus expected the humans to be very wary creatures indeed. They would not trust someone to walk out of the forest days or weeks later. That meant that the observer, if one were not found now, would miss the first, most crucial years of human development, and in the environment most similar to the Pyrantine Depths no less! The problem grieved him deeply.
“Another cup, sir?” the intern said softly.
Primus considered her. She had fine eye teeth, her tattoos swirled in all the proper places. The plaited bars of her hair indicated a proud lineage, Primus was not adept at reading the women’s language, that artifice of woven hair and intermingled jewels, but he knew enough to read that her maternal line was steady, exacting even.
Primus considered her for a long time as the coffee grew cold in her hands. She never wavered, never raised her head. Her hands did not shake, no words burst forth from her. She was not half the woman that Vira was, but still, something of her comportment reminded him of that night at the Pyrantine Heights, the silent beauty at his side. It was a good omen, Primus finally decided.
“Child, what is your name?” he asked.
“Allaria, sir.”
“And your major? You are an intern here, correct?”
“Correct sir. Exobiology major, minor in xenology.”
Yes, she had very fine eye teeth indeed. Primus took the carafe of coffee from her hands, laid it on the grass beside them. The fresh crushed scent of lemongrass was thick in the air, distant bird chirped and whistled, the wind kicked up through the ruins and made a single angry howl.
Primus took her chin in his hand, raised it to the faint moonlight. It broke all forms of protocol for a lesser servant like her to look upon a man such as him. She looked and held it, gazed into his eyes with a fire that sparked something in him. Primus was six hundred years old, youth was a distant memory of spring on a colony world that no longer existed. Looking into her eyes, Primus could almost smell the crisp air. Lemongrass fell away for a few precious moments, to be replaced by the last early spring snow and the liquid scent of the terrik fields.
“Child. Allaria. I would very much like to promote you.”
\*\*\*
They had given her flow-form skin and a subcutaneous laser, should the need arise. Her eye teeth were retractable now, her tattoos gone. Allaria’s hair fell unplaited to the small of her back in a torrent of the color that humans called “blond.” She wasn’t sure if she liked it yet.
She lay awake and unmoving in the small clearing where she would live the next hundred years. All around her the humans still slept, fifty in all. They were just arrived from Planet A, they had made the journey in cryogenic sleep, and though it would all feel like a moment to them with the length of their eye-blink lives everyone who had ever known them would be dead and gone by now.
Allaria glanced to the side, saw a big male tossing in his sleep, groaning. He would be the first to wake. Allaria worked backwards from his rough face, tried to imagine what a younger sister would look like for him, hoped that he had one. Her skin tingled as it flexed, all the anchors coming loose and shifting, vibrating themselves into the proper shade, the look. When her bones moved the pain was exquisite. Allaria was silent through it all, watching him: the first who would awaken.
All around them the air boiled. It was the hottest place Allaria had ever been to, so hot she couldn't imagine how native life had ever evolved in it. Perhaps, if their civilization made it far enough, they would plumb the depths of the valley and use the planet’s core as an energy source but for now it just hot, brutally, unbelievably hot.
“Where am I?” the man woke. Others were stirring too, groans and grunts filled their little slice of valley.
Allaria sighed, made the sound graceful. Then she rose, a human, and greeted her graduation day.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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[WP] Luckily for them, the hero wasn't too hard to find, based on his clothes and appearance. That and the massive amount of soundtrack players following him.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Archcommander Varney, Part II)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Archcommander Varney could see the giant blue sword from three blocks away.** It was nearly three times as tall as the hero herself—more than once, to Archcommander Varney's mild amusement, she'd been forced to duck beneath some low-lying power lines to avoid cutting them. The trio of young men accompanying her were causing quite the awful racket with their bagpipes; the Archcommander briefly wondered if the cacophony could be weaponized before filing that away for later investigation.
"Third rogue 'hero' this week. At least this one had the courtesy to announce herself," Tamulu said. They'd taken the form of a handsome young man today. Tamulu leaned forwards over the rooftop they stood on, eyes dilating, and frowned. "That's a Demon Blade. Not sure which one. Be careful; it may look ridiculous, but she's stronger than she looks."
Archcommander Varney grunted in acknowledgement. "Can the blade be wielded by anyone?"
"Some people are better suited to it than others. If you take it, you should have no problem finding a replacement owner."
Archcommander Varney nodded. "Can you take her in a fight?"
Tamulu snorted. "Please. My people *made* the weapon she holds. I know its limitations. You could take her out with a gun, if you took her by surprise. It's a blade, not a shield."
Archcommander Varney considered it, then shook his head. "The press backlash would be too great. Shift into a police officer and arrest her for open carry of a magical weapon; if she resists, then we can paint her as the aggressor." The Archcommander methodically unpacked his equipment from his bag—a camera and a rifle. He set them up with the same precision he set everything up—economic movements, minimal force applied with maximum effect.
Tamulu *flickered* next to him; Archcommander Varney politely averted his eyes. The forms Tamulu took were fine as an end product—it was only the stages in-between that could be... disturbing.
With a light *thud*, Tamulu fell to the ground in the form of a snake. Slithering off the edge of the building, they shifted again in an unobtrusive corner, taking the form of a stern-looking policewoman. They rolled their shoulders and walked out.
"Ma'am! Excuse me, ma'am!" Tamulu walked up to the hero with the sword. That awful bagpipe music faltered as the hero stopped. "We received a call about a woman with a sword in public. Are you aware that public display of magical weaponry without state approval is a federal crime?"
The woman blinked, taken aback. "This—this is the Demon Blade of Determination, granted to me by divine right. Mortal officers—"
"Divine right is not a signed form of state approval. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you under arrest."
The three musicians tensed. The woman narrowed her eyes. "Madam, I am here on a quest given to me by the highest possible authority—"
"What a coincidence! So am I. Drop the weapon and put your hands up. Last warning."
The hero scowled. "No. Move out of my way before I make you." She moved to bring down the sword—
Archcommander Varney squeezed the trigger.
Hero and blade collapsed as one.
Tamulu caught the blade before it fell, then looked at the three musicians.
As one, they fled.
Archcommander Varney stood up.
Another "hero" neutralized; another weapon for the armory.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
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Sir Lematu strode into the tavern. His gilded armor near blinding and the legendary mace of stone locked on his hip. Over his back a harp was nestled beside a quiver of arrows. As he entered the inhabitants of the tavern shielded their ears. He had long grown used to the curse that followed him, forever more ethereal musicians and chorus would follow after him playing grand tunes. It had been annoying at first but he had grown fond of the tunes.
He gave a dazzling smile to the barkeeper and took a seat as the rest of his companions came in. "Good innkeeper, your finest drinks! A round for the house!" He declared tossing a thick ruby the size of an egg onto the counter top. The inhabitants of the bar cheered and drinks were handed out. He turned looking at the smiling patron. His face stopped at a glowering half-elf.
Clothed in a mix of cheap leather armor and flowing robes the half-elf looked at Lematu as if he had insulted her parents, her gods, and every person she knew. He gave her his award winning wink and turned back to his companions.
The tavern was in the middle of nowhere. The last stop before the Tundra wastes where his destiny laid. .
Milo turned to him, his finger's tapping on the counter top as his eyes flitted through the warm room.
"So this is the last stop then. No more warm tavern's filled with loose belonging. You sure about this?" He asked taking a swig of his drink.
"Aye. It's the only way in truth. Otherwise I am damned." Lematu said.
"There has to be a better way." His other companion Vila said.
"None that end well." He replied looking at the well worn countertop of the bar.
The sound of a chair scraping the stone floor caused his eye to turn to it. The half-elf strode forward toward him her glower having not disappeared.
"Are you Sir Lematu, the dragon slayer, the great bard, the killer of lichs, the bringer of songs, the lord of Brakenhall?" She asked crossing her hands.
"I would indeed be the man you named. How may I help you my lady?" He asked as Milo nudged him.
The woman pulled out a piece of paper. "You've been served. You owe 42 cases of child support to the various child you've had." She said. "Next time before you try running to the artic to avoid paying make sure your theme song isn't playing when you enter a bar." She said as his face fell
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[WP] Hiding the fact that you are a half-demon to your classmates is easy as being helpful at school and putting on a friendly face. What could go wrong? Well, nothing's worse than being summoned by one of your classmates, that's for sure.
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You were mixing up some matcha tea before putting it on a kettle. No one would imagine a demoness like yourself would brew her own tea but sometimes the tiny earthly pleasures were the best for an immortal being.
Suddenly dark purple smoke swirled around your feet. Quickly you put down the small bowl down and sigh annoyed. “Demon in robes and pigtail it is…”
The smoke dissipates around “Hi, hello. Let’s this over with so I can return to my nightly activities. What does your heart desire? yadda yadda, you probably know the rest?” You are met with silence and you take in your surroundings. You know this dorm room, oh no.
You look down and see a young man on the floor quivering in fear. “Ah damnit! Calm down Jack, not going to hurt you.” You reach for a chair and sit down. You look at the summoning ritual and it’s surprising simplistic in its design.
“Luna?”
“In the flesh, you summoned me with a lesser ritual? Oh this is humiliating.” You rub your temple while meeting his nervous gaze.
“You’re a lesser demon?!”
Your eyes glowed a menacing purple “Call me a lesser again and you will have something fear, babe.”
“How did I end up summoning you, then?”
“The difference in power needed to summon lesser, from a greater demon…” you put your hand on your chest “… or an elder demon isn’t that big really, it’s distance from the summoner that usually matters the most. So the ritual instead of targeting some random trash in hell it targeted me.”
Jack sat on floor dumbfounded, “so let me get this straight, I’ve been dating a demoness for 2 and half years?”
You rubbed your eyes “yeah pretty much, can you keep it a secret? Otherwise I’ll just have to wipe your memory and you’ll be down a girlfriend.”
He nodded and you figured that’s the best you could get. “Alright then, I’ll return to my dorm now.” Purple smoke started swirling around your feet again. “Why were you summoning a demon this early? Next time wait until 3 am so I’m properly dressed for this.”
Soon enough you had your tea in the kettle and you heard a knock on your door. You partially open it and see Jack standing with his arms crossed and standing straight, but his fingers betrayed his strong pose by fidgeting with his hoodie. “We need to talk.”
You roll you eyes and fully open the door. “Fine, I made tea, I had the third Kissing Booth on, we can talk while I finish.” He looked at you as if his mind had blown up. You burst up laughing and pulled him inside.
“Hey, don’t judge me, it’s cute!”
r/sipYoEscribiEsto
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“OwO what’s this who had summoned me?” I say flouring my demonic robes as i rise out of the Summoning circle. With a final flourish of red sparkles and smoke I turn to see -SAM fucken SAM my smile faltered
“Magufuli?” He said poking my blood red robes.
“No stop” I pull my rides away. What am I supposed to do? I turn back around. I’ll tell him that I’ve possessed Thai body or something. I hear a little pop and I glance back to see Sam leaned back on his bean bag opening a soda.
“What are you doing”
“Waiting” Said Sam eying me up and down. Pausing at my exposed chest
“Excuse me” I pull my robes in closer, I wasn’t even that handsome there was nothing to see not even chest hair. But that didn’t stop him from feeling his face becoming hot.
“Soooo Magifuli what are you going to do for me” he said circling his fingers around the sofa can.
“Oh plenty of things, now I’m not as strong as other Demond’s but that’s what makes me better sometimes you just need the small revenge no one gets hurt but you get back at them. Or maybe you just want to get faster and destroy people on line, I’m quite flexible.”
“No I mean what can you do for me as Magufuli not a Demond”
“I uh” - What could he possibly want? did he know who he was messing with? Wait he doesn’t “I do not know of this “Magufuli you speak of. I appear to people as their worst” enemies? no we barely new each other competitors? Uhhh -“friend”
He raised an eyebrow and placed the soda on the ground before laughing “Magufuli you do know my last friend nearly killed me right?”
“Oh no I didn’t” I answered meekly
“Yeah it was this whole thing accused me of some really serious stuff because I called him out on his assholy” He stood up and brushed the counter. His textbook neatly arranged and pens perfectly allied. His entire room was blank white. No posters no basketball tucked away just a bed text books and Tshirts and pants folded into a draw with a spotless surface.
Everyone who had summoned him had at least a disorganized desk. Most rooms were unlivable. Clothes every where decaying food, unfinished homework used tissues.
Author: Idk where to go after this lol. maybe I’ll add something
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